


Let's Be Achilles Together

by TyrannyRat



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Eventual Smut, Fake AH Crew, Fluff and Angst, Immortal Fake AH Crew, M/M, Multi, OT8, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-07 15:00:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8805385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TyrannyRat/pseuds/TyrannyRat
Summary: Geoff Ramsey was born in 1355 and, by all rights, he should have shuffled off his mortal coil when he met Jack Pattillo, a captain in the British navy who was ordered to kill Ramsey for his crimes. The planned execution goes awry when Geoff discovered neither he nor Pattillo could die. Forced together by highly unlikely circumstance, they strike up a fast friendship and remain partners through the changing eras. When it comes to things like immortality, however, nothing is ever quite so simple. Complications arise when Geoff decides to seek out and recruit other immortals into a criminal gang called the Fakes. Their emotions and lives become tangled up in each other, threatening to collapse everything they've built. To make matters worse, the authorities have caught on to the crew's inability to die and are hellbent on rectifying this problem, and it seems one Ryan Haywood is reluctant to try and stop them.





	1. The Beginning of the Never Ending

The morning air had a harsh bite to it. Its sting was worsened by the unrelenting spray of seawater, and rushing winds. Despite the bitter cold, Captain Geoff Ramsey did not stay in his quarters, as he would have liked to have done. They had business to attend to. There was a French merchant ship, about fifty leagues north of them, according to information gathered by both his first mate and his navigator. Geoff’s grip tightened on the handles of the wheel of his ship, Achievement Hunter, feeling unsettled. The rising sun had painted the sky a blood red. A storm was sure to be brewing. Geoff only hoped they could raid the merchant ship before the rains, as well as the monstrous waves they would bring, overtook them. “How long ‘til we reach the mark, sir?” Geoff looked towards the crew member that had spoken, considering the question.

“Should be about high noon, if the winds remain favorable. Make sure everything is in order. Won’t do us any good to get there and be short cannonballs.” The man saluted, casual and lazy, as much respect as one could expect from a brutish rogue.

“Aye, Captain.” He strode off, barking orders at the others to check their inventory and make sure the cannons were all in working condition. Geoff watched his crew scurry about, slight frown on his face. Though their voyage so far had been quite fortuitous, meeting with little strife, something had just felt off ever since they set sail a few weeks back. Geoff had ordered his crew to check over every inch of the ship about a thousand times now, and he was sure they were sick to death of it, but still the sense of foreboding hung over Geoff like a dark cloud.

Geoff raised his eyes to his ship’s flag, flapping in the wind. Mostly black, with the image of a fighting cock emblazoned on it in brilliant green. The green color was mostly just to show off. It had been such a pain dyeing it. First dyed blue with woad and then yellow with greenweed. It took days, but it was worth it. The symbol struck fear into the hearts of Geoff’s enemies, which were many. It also helped to ease some of Geoff’s nerves. Geoff was the best damn pirate to sail these seas, and he wouldn’t be held back by anything, red skies and disquiet be damned.

However, it didn’t take long for Geoff to start feeling anxious again. They had been sailing all day without spying their target. The sun was sinking in the horizon, his crew was grumbling, and Geoff was confused. He had been assured that the merchant ship was not far. His navigator and first mate were quaking under his furious gaze. “Who,” Geoff’s voice was cold and steely, “is to blame for this error?” His first mate, Avery, a thin, intelligent man Geoff liked well enough but didn’t trust anymore than the rest of the band of thieves Geoff employed, looked to his navigator, Hilda, a nervous but capable woman who had until now never steered them wrong.

“If I may, sir. This is clearly a navigation error. I gave her the merchant’s route, it was her job to follow it.” Hilda glared hotly.

“I followed the route exactly! You must’ve given me the wrong information.” Geoff rubbed his eyes irritably as they devolved into bickering.

He cut across them before they could give him a headache. “Enough! Regardless of fault, this has set us back. We have limited food and water in our stores. If we don’t find the merchant ship soon, we’ll be forced to find a port to dock at.” Docking was always a risk. It was a bit difficult to hide from the authorities when their pirate ship was sitting in plain sight. “Hilda, swab the decks, Avery, help the chef gut and scale fish. If you two don’t sort this out, I’ll hang you both by the ankles on the flagpole. Let you set an example for any future crew members that fail me.” They stared at Geoff in horror and he growled, “Go! Now!” They scrambled away. Geoff wouldn’t actually string them up, of course. Geoff didn’t punish people so harshly for honest mistakes, but the threats were effective nonetheless, as Geoff had a reputation for causing terrible suffering to idiots who failed to learn from their mistakes.

The merchant ship turned out to be the least of Geoff’s worries. There came a cry of alarm from the crow’s nest. “British military ship, Captain! Coming up on our stern, a league away!” Geoff cursed. This was just what they needed. He didn’t hesitate to begin giving out orders to his crew.

“Lower the masts! Man the cannons! I’m turning her around!” Geoff spun the ship’s wheel as hard as he could. The ship groaned at the sudden change in direction, swinging slowly around to face the oncoming threat. Now that the wind was pushing at their bow, it was slow going, but that didn’t matter. It would give them more time to ready themselves for battle. Geoff’s teeth were on edge. The feeling that this was all wrong was back a hundredfold, even though he and his crew had faced down plenty of military ships before.

It wasn’t long until the ships were sliding up next to each other and Geoff could see the grim faces of the British navy. Something was wrong, something was _wrong._ It took a moment until it clicked. No one on the other ship was manning the cannons. What was going on? Was this a surrender? Did this ship have a fool of a captain that didn’t recognize Achievement Hunter’s flag? It just wasn’t right. No matter, though. The British ship would be at the bottom of sea soon enough. “Ready men? Fi--” The command died on Geoff’s tongue as soon as he felt a blade press against his throat.

“Nothing personal, Captain.” Avery’s voice sounded in Geoff’s ear. “But the British offered us a pretty penny for your head.” Fuck. He should have known. This is why he had been feeling so uneasy during their voyage. His mutinous crew members may have hid their intentions well, but there were always tells and Geoff had been subconsciously picking up on them. Geoff watched as over half his crew drew their swords, subduing the smaller portion of his crew that actually remained loyal.

“Idiots! Do you not think they’ll have all of you executed for your crimes as soon as I’m dead? You won’t see a single groat of the bounty they offered.” Geoff’s breath hitched as the sword against his throat pressed down harder. He could feel it cut into his skin, a trickle of blood oozing out of the shallow wound.

“Keep your tongue still or I’ll cut it out, Ramsey.” Geoff had no choice but to fall silent and watch as the British navy boarded his ship. A man, portly in both manner and size, with rust colored hair and a bushy beard, stepped forward. The decorations on his uniform identified him as the captain. He was giving Geoff a curious look. Nothing like the distaste Geoff usually saw from authorities.

“I am the British navy captain, Jack Pattillo, of the ship Bittersweet. I am under orders from Queen Elizabeth to capture and execute the dread pirate Geoff Ramsey.”

“Well, you’ve done the capturing part pretty well so far.” Geoff quipped. He would not die begging nor crying. He would retain his dignity until the end. He was surprised to see Captain Jack smile softly at him.

“So I have.” His smile slipped from his face as he tugged out his firearm. Stepping forward, he pressed it against Geoff’s temple. Geoff felt the blade leave his throat as Avery stepped away. “Now for the unfortunate part. I apologize, but I must do what I have to do.” Geoff gave a tiny nod of understanding. Then, there was a bang and everything went black.

When Geoff came to again, he felt himself being lifted up and he had one _hell_ of a headache. What had happened? Did the gun backfire? Geoff groaned and tried to push away the person attempting to move him. That’s when everything around him erupted into chaos. Geoff was dropped unceremoniously, but luckily he had only been a few inches off the ground. The person who had been holding him gave a terrified shout. Everyone, it seemed, was shouting. Screaming, to be more accurate, and praying to their maker. What the hell? Geoff opened his eyes slowly, putting his hand to his head and groaning. All the noise was not helping his headache.

There was… quite a lot of blood all over him, but as far as he could tell, he wasn’t injured. Everyone was flattening themselves against the sides of the ship, staring at Geoff with wide eyes. Captain Jack was standing above him, hand over his mouth, looking as if he had just seen a ghost. “What the fuck happened? What’s going on?” When no one replied save for quiet mutterings among themselves, Geoff found himself growing annoyed. He sat up and glared at Captain Jack. “Well? Are you going to kill me or what?” Geoff snapped. Not that he was in a hurry to die, but really, his head was killing him (no pun intended), so the less he had to suffer it, the better.

“I…” Jack lowered his hand from his mouth. “I did.” Geoff had not really been expecting that answer.

“Clearly, you didn’t.” Jack’s shocked face hardened.

“I _did._ I put the gun right to your head and pulled the trigger. Look, we’re both covered in your blood.” It was now that Geoff noticed Jack’s once pristine uniform was splattered with gore. Not all of it was just blood. It was bit too… chunky, just to be that. Geoff was feeling ill now. “There was a hole in your head the size of my fist. You were _dead._ And now… now you’re not.” Geoff swallowed thickly and reached up to touch his head. Also covered in blood, along with the rest of him. But there was no sign of any holes, fist sized or otherwise. Well, then. Geoff wasn’t one for squandering second chances. Nor was he one to sit around slack-jawed when there was work to be done. Geoff hopped to his feet, which turned out to be a mistake, as he was rather dizzy. He nearly went crashing to the ground again but Jack grabbed his arm, steadying him. Geoff gave Jack a quizzical look and the other let go rather quickly, coughing and muttering something about forces of habit.

“Whoever wants to join me, can. The rest of you, draw your weapons and prepare to die.” Geoff drew his sword. He was just hoping everyone would be too scared off to try to kill him again, because while Geoff wasn’t sure he deserved a miracle, he sure as hell knew he didn’t deserve two. There would be no third chance and Geoff was vastly outnumbered. Luckily, two thirds of the crowd, both his crew members and Jack’s, scrambled onto Bittersweet, screaming their heads off.

“Oi! Get back here, you cowards!” Jack shouted after them but watched helplessly as his own ship sailed away. Geoff laughed.

“Positive you just don’t want to join me, Captain Jack?” There was a moment of hesitance and Geoff was sure Jack would say yes, but instead the other man drew his sword.

“You’re of the devil, Ramsey. I’m going to make sure to send you back to Hell.” That gave Geoff a momentary pause, because oddly enough, he hadn’t seen Hell, nor Heaven, while he was dead. Perhaps he had not been dead long enough. Geoff shrugged.

“Suit yourself, Pattillo.”

Geoff had been wrong about not getting a third chance. As it turned out, not everyone who had stayed behind was on Geoff’s side. In fact… no one was. They were all terrified of him and wanted him dead to make their realities right again. So, Geoff was forced into getting his third chance rather quickly. Then his fourth, fifth, sixth, and so on. Everytime he came too, he picked off more people. Some of them he never got the chance to kill, as fear overtook them and they dove overboard in a desperate bid to escape Geoff and his wrath.

It was Jack that killed Geoff the most and by the time Jack was the only one left, Geoff was frustrated, covered in viscera, and just wanted a nap. He had no energy to spare for pleasantries. He hardly had the mental capacity, most of his mind was busy trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him. “Well, I must do what I must do,” Geoff parroted Jack’s words from earlier before plunging the sword straight through his heart, slashing his throat for good measure. Geoff sighed. It was really too bad. There was something likable about Pattillo. Geoff turned and began throwing a dead body overboard when he heard a rasping cough. Geoff spun around. Jack was getting to his feet, swaying a little. Geoff blinked, surprised. “Well, look who’s of the devil now?”

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” Jack’s voice was hoarse, and Geoff supposed it made sense, seeing as Jack’s throat had been slit and all. Not that it was now.

“Well, that makes two of us.” Jack looked around a bit helplessly.

“Uh… do you think I could get a ride to shore?” Geoff let out a barking laugh.

“Only if you join me, Pattillo. I’m in the market for a new first mate.” And a new… everyone. Jack’s brows knit together and he seemed to be fighting with himself before he responded.

“Well, it beats swimming.” Geoff grinned and strode forward to pat Jack on the back.

“Welcome aboard, First Mate Jack.”

  


The year was 1396. The year Geoff Ramsey met Jack Patillo. The year Geoff died for the very first time. The year everything changed.

  


By all accounts, Jack had lived a good life. Born to a loving family that may have been poor, but managed to keep their children fed. Accepted into the navy, and quickly moved up through the ranks, effectively going from poor to doing quite well for himself. Yet, Jack found himself unhappy. As well as he was doing, it was all just so… boring. He craved adventure, which is why he joined the military in the first place, but it turned out to be mostly waking up far too early and doing patrol work.

The most interesting part of his job was hunting down pirates. Jack couldn’t help but be a little envious of them from time to time. They lived by their own rules and got to see the world while Jack was stuck sailing within British territory. Not only that, but… he had heard of matelotage, a sort of pirate form of marriage between two male pirates. It was hard not to be jealous of that sort of carefree attitude towards homosexuality, when Jack lived his life in fear of someone learning he was gay. Still, the fact that most pirates were missing some sort of limb or eye, plus the fact that they were dreadful scoundrels, kept Jack from joining their ranks.

Then he met Geoff Ramsey.

Or rather, caught Geoff Ramsey. One of the most notorious pirates in history. The British army had been after him for almost two decades now. A remarkably long career for a pirate. It had taken a lot of planning and a lot of bribing, before Jack’s crew formulated a strategy. The navy would offer Ramsey’s crew enough coin to turn traitor. Ramsey’s first mate would feed Captain Ramsey some cock and bull story about a French merchant ship and the navigator would lead them right into Jack’s grasp. The plan went off without a hitch and Jack soon found himself laying eyes on the scourge of the seas himself. ...Fuck, he was kind of hot. Dark hair, sleepy eyes, scruffy beard, and even completely intact, which was a rarity for pirates. It was a damn shame Jack had to kill him. Only, it turned out killing Ramsey wasn’t an option. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. Jack was able to kill him just fine, it was the keeping him dead that was the problem.

Jack never liked killing much. Hunting down pirates was exciting, fighting them was thrilling, but killing people was just grim. Jack had to fight the wave of nausea he felt when pulled the trigger and a good chunk of Geoff’s head went missing. He also found himself pushing down the thought that it was a shame he had to ruin that handsome visage. Jack was just lifting the body, to take back to his ship, Bittersweet (the Queen would demand a body as proof of Geoff’s death), when Ramsey came back to life. Jack nearly had a heart attack. Ramsey must have made a deal with the devil, or was a demon himself, because this was not God’s work. This was some sort of foul curse. Geoff was not a man, but a monster. Jack had never experienced this sort of heart-stopping fear. It was… somewhat exhilarating actually, but the excitement was somewhat dampened by the fact that there was no way Jack was getting out of this alive.

Except he did, because as it turned out, somewhere along the line, _Jack_ had sold his soul to the devil, without even realizing it, because apparently, a slit throat and a punctured heart were only flesh wounds to Jack, ones that healed remarkably quick. It was… almost more terrifying being like Geoff than finding out that someone like Geoff even existed. At the same time, it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to Jack. He hadn’t expected the repeated offer to join Ramsey. He knew he should say no, but… they were both freaks of nature now. No one would accept them into polite society if they were found to be immortal. But as a pirate… being immortal would only help, winning every battle and striking fear in the hearts of opponents and civilians alike. A new world of possibilities was opening up to Jack. He didn’t have to follow rules anymore. There was nothing anyone could really do about it. He couldn’t die. And Geoff… Jack had heard a lot about Ramsey, that he was a good captain that looked out for his own, despite being a pirate. Jack already felt drawn to him. It should have been a more difficult decision. He was talking about committing _treason,_ after all, among other crimes. Yet, the agreement came easy, as did the companionship. Geoff clapped him on the back and offered him a swig from a flask, which Jack gladly accepted. He supposed it was difficult to not feel friendly towards someone he shared a curse with. Or was it a blessing?

  


At first, it was a little awkward. Jack was used to doing things by code, and sometimes that got in the way, leading to arguments. He still hated killing, and he knew Geoff thought Jack was a little silly for it. Whenever a merchant’s throat needed slitting, or a military man’s (former comrade, Jack tried not to think) head needed blowing off, Jack would inevitably turn to Geoff. But for all of Geoff’s eye rolling, he never forced Jack to kill anyone, and when it came to the heat of battle, Jack always did what needed to be done.

Eventually, though, they found a rhythm that worked, and it helped that both of them were easy-going. The newness and awkwardness gave way to fierce loyalty and teamwork that made everyone else’s head spin trying to keep up with them. Other crew members came and went but Geoff and Jack remained by each other’s side, the Demon Pirates, as they were known.

As it turned out, being immortal didn’t make all of the stresses of life completely disappear. Dying was still, more often than not, extremely painful. Being cold and hungry was still miserable. Losing out on treasure or getting ambushed was still frustrating. Sometimes Jack could see it getting to Geoff. The man had drunk himself to death on more than one occasion, though Jack was fairly sure Geoff wouldn’t be so reckless with the drink if he still thought death would be permanent for him. Nevertheless, Jack eventually found himself on his knees, between Geoff’s legs, relieving the other man’s tension with his tongue and throat. It was comfortable, easy. A natural progression of their strong friendship. If anyone wanted to complain about it, they would meet the sharp end of a sword.

They had stopped aging. Jack pointed it out one day. It was like their bodies had been frozen in time after their first deaths. Geoff had laughed, and said he was glad for it, since he had been losing his hair. There were indeed a lot of benefits to staying the same age forever, but there were drawbacks, too. People took notice, eventually. It was getting harder and harder to find crew members that didn’t believe in the immortality tales, or at the very least, weren’t scared shitless of them. But as time wore on, that became less and less of a problem. They were fine on their own. They made their own way, eventually retiring from piracy after the government cracked down on it, and the thrill wore off. They moved to the new world and found new crimes to engage in. Theft and counterfeiting, namely. They also fought alongside the colonials in the American Revolution. It was no doubt that a few of the battles would have never been won without their help. Decades turned into centuries. Jack sometimes caught himself wondering if they were even human anymore, and he could tell that Geoff wondered the same.

The first time they met another immortal, it was 1873. Jack and Geoff had moved out west to enjoy the lawlessness of the frontier while it lasted. Running highway robberies and holding up banks. It had been a while since they had been notorious and it felt good to be spoken of in hushed tones again. It was powerful, being able to make people cower just by brandishing their symbol, which had been changed from a fighting rooster to a duck, in honor of their old pirating days. All that infamy painted targets on their back, however, and while they were both quick on the draw, sometimes they would find someone quicker.

On a warm, dry evening, they found someone scarier. Jack and Geoff were heading to their camp, after spending a few hours tossing back whiskey at the local saloon. They were both uproariously drunk when someone stepped out in front of them and they both stopped dead. It was a bit of a sobering sight. The other person would have been barely visible in the dark, seeing as he was wearing all black, if it hadn’t been the stark white cow skull he was wearing over his face. And seriously, who _did_ something like that? Masks were one thing, though hardly anyone bothered with them in the lawless West, but an actual _skull?_ Geoff scoffed. This man was obviously trying to make a name for himself, and was trying too hard to be intimidating. Then Cow Skull threw a knife and it stuck directly into Jack’s throat. Geoff flinched as Jack’s blood sprayed over the ground. Jack fell to the ground, bleeding out in an instant. “Well, then,” Geoff said, taken aback. It looked like Geoff was too quick to judge. Geoff knelt down and tugged the knife out of Jack’s throat, wincing when it caused more blood to gush out. Though he knew Jack would be on his feet soon enough, it was always hard seeing him like this. The man pulled out his gun and pointed it at Geoff but didn’t fire. Geoff placed his hand in Jack’s hair as Jack suddenly coughed and wheezed. Cow Skull didn’t scream or run or ask questions, like everyone else did. He just tilted his head ever so slightly. Geoff’s heart was slamming against his ribcage. Geoff couldn’t see the man’s eyes, only the empty sockets of the skull. He felt like he was being stared down by an actual animal, a deadly predator despite having the head of a prey animal.

“You’re like me,” said the man, speaking finally. And that… that made Geoff’s blood run cold, more than anything else.

“Who the fuck are you?” Geoff never got an answer. There was a bang and his world went dark.

When he roused, he noticed he wasn’t lying on his back, like he so often was when he woke up from death. He was upright, pressed against what felt like a pole. He tried to move, only to feel rough rope bite into his arms, keeping him bound . He heard a groan next to him and he turned his head to see Jack tied next to him, to what turned out to be a hitching post. “What’s going on?” Jack mumbled.

“An experiment,” came the same deep voice from before, muffled slightly by the cow skull. Geoff vaguely noted that their captor’s voice sounded remarkably similar to Jack’s. The man was behind them and Geoff could hear the sound of metal scraping against metal. The awful sound of a blade being sharpened.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Geoff snapped, panic edging into his tone.

“I want to see if there’s any way for us to die.” That was the last answer Geoff wanted to hear. He struggled against his restraints, but they held true.

“You’re insane,” Geoff snapped.

“That’s what they tell me,” came the reply. Fuck. Couldn’t this guy say anything that wasn’t massively creepy? “I have nothing against you, so I’ll try to make these deaths quick.” That was a no, then.

“Who are you?” Jack asked, his voice tentative.

“People call me a lot of things. Grim Reaper, Angel of Death, but lately they’ve taken to calling me the Crazy Longhorn.” The man paused, “Which is pretty stupid, actually. This isn’t even a Longhorn skull, it’s an Aurochs skull.” The information was surprising. Aurochsen had been extinct for at least two hundred years now. If this man was indeed another immortal, he might be almost as old as Jack and Geoff, if not equally so. “You can call me Ryan, if you need to put a name to me. Let’s begin, shall we?”  


Geoff had been tortured before but this could not compare. Ryan seemed to have endless ways to kill them. There were a few times where Geoff had been seriously worried that Ryan had successfully found a way to kill them permanently. There had been a few minutes where Geoff could only stare tearfully at his boyfriend’s decapitated body. It took a lot longer than it usually did for Jack to come back to life and when he did, his severed head disappeared from the Ryan’s hands and rematerialized onto Jack’s shoulders. It had been a very strange sight. “Close,” had been Ryan’s only comment, which had spurred Geoff into swearing for a full two minutes, cursing Ryan and anyone who had any responsibility in bringing about his existence. Ryan seemed unfazed by this, but it was hard to say for sure, as he ripped out Geoff’s heart next.

It went on like this for some time, until finally Ryan held up a match and a container of kerosene. Geoff swore, Jack was struggling against his restraints again. Geoff knew they were both thinking the same thing. If their bodies were completely destroyed, they couldn’t possibly survive, could they? Well, whether they liked it or not, they were about to find out. “Please,” Jack gasped. “You don’t have to burn both of us. Leave him alone. Just burn me.” Geoff swallowed thickly. No. If anyone was going to die permanently, it would be Geoff. Besides, even if it wasn’t a permanent death, it would hurt like a bitch. There was no way Geoff was letting Jack go through that.

“Fuck that. Burn me. I can take it.” Jack shot Geoff a horrified look.

“What? No!” Geoff’s gut twisted at the pained tone in Jack’s voice.

“It’ll be fine, Jack. You survived _decapitation._ If you can bounce back from that, I can survive this.” Geoff wasn’t sure he believed that, but he wasn’t going to take a chance with Jack’s life. Ryan was looking between them, but remained silent, seemingly content to let them finish their argument.

“Geoff, no. I don’t… I can’t… I don’t want to live without you.” Geoff’s chest ached at the words but he couldn’t let Jack make this sacrifice. And maybe it was partly selfishness on his part, because he didn’t think _he_ could live without _Jack._

“You’re strong, Jack. You’ll be fine. Besides, it’s not going to work. Trust me.”

“But--”

“No more arguing. I’m the captain, you’re the first mate, remember? This is my decision.”

“I can’t fucking believe you’re pulling rank on me.”

“Well, belie--” Geoff broke off, sputtering, when he got a faceful of kerosene. Ryan seemed to be siding with Geoff, and was now covering him in accelerant. It smelled horribly and caused his clothes to cling unpleasantly to his skin, but Geoff was actually grateful for it. The faster he burned, the less pain he would have to endure. Geoff tried to tune out the screaming Jack was doing, begging Ryan to take him instead. If Geoff survived this, he would have to make this up to Jack.

Ryan emptied the container of kerosene and threw it aside before lighting a match. Geoff watched it flicker before Ryan threw it at him. The pain was astronomical. Every nerve was alight with a deep pain that reached his bones and organs. He was screaming and Jack was screaming and Geoff couldn’t even tell their cries apart after a while. Eventually, Geoff’s body shut down his ability to feel pain, but it was still a huge relief when he finally succumbed to the flames and smoke. Had he had the ability to do it, he would have apologized to Jack before he lost consciousness, but as it turned out, it was rather difficult to speak while on fire.

The first thing Geoff heard upon resurrection was the sound of Jack sobbing. Geoff tried to call out to him, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. He realized he was on the ground, face down. The ropes holding him to the post probably burned away. Geoff couldn’t see very well. Everything was dark and blurry. He was still in so much pain, which was unusual. Normally all wounds were healed when they woke up. Sometimes there might be a little lingering soreness, but he could tell he was still severely injured. The pain slowly began to ebb, however, and as it left, Geoff found he was able to move a little. “Jack,” he wheezed out. His voice was wrecked. Hoarse and barely above a whisper, but it was there. He heard footsteps, heard his boyfriend suck in a breath, his crying stutter to a stop. Something was nudging his shoulder, a boot, Geoff realized after a moment. It flipped him over onto his back and Geoff groaned miserably. His vision was incredibly blurry, but it was clearing.

“There really is no way,” Geoff heard Ryan murmur. He sounded a little… disappointed? It was hard to tell. Geoff’s hearing was muffled, too. He supposed his body wasn’t fully restored yet, so all of his senses were still damaged from the fire.

“Geoff!” Jack sounded almost as terrible as Geoff did. “I thought… I thought you were… it’s almost been an hour. I didn’t think you’d come back.” An hour? Shit. That was a long fucking time. Fire may not have killed Geoff, but it sure as hell did a number on him.

“I’m ‘kay,” Geoff mumbled, though he kind of wasn’t. Jack snorted, clearly not buying it. Which was understandable. Geoff was finally able to push himself into a sitting position. His vision was almost back to normal, and he was greeted with the sight of Jack, face wet and blotchy, still tied to the pole. And Ryan, who was advancing on Jack with a knife.

“Oh, give it a rest!” Jack snapped at Ryan, his sorrow seemed to have evaporated, replaced with irritation. However, instead of stabbing Jack, Ryan used the knife to saw away Jack’s binds. Once Jack was freed, Ryan pocketed his knife and turned around. Geoff could hardly believe his own eyes as the masked man just began walking away without a word. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?!” Jack apparently shared Geoff’s disbelief. Jack tugged his gun out of his holster and shot Ryan in the back. Ryan fell to his knees and Jack emptied the rest of his chamber into the man, apparently not satisfied until Ryan was clearly very dead.

“You seem upset, dear.” Geoff said, attempting a joke as he watched Ryan’s still form for any sign of movement. Time to see if this man was truly immortal after all.

“Shut up,” Jack grumbled. “I haven’t forgiven you for trying to sacrifice yourself.” Geoff opened his mouth to point out that Jack started it, but Ryan was getting to his feet. Geoff heard Jack swear. Geoff sighed. So, there really were others out there. He wondered how many and if they were all just as fucking crazy as this Ryan guy. Neither Jack nor Geoff tried to stop Ryan from walking away again. There was no point. Besides, something told Geoff he’d see the man again, someday.

  


Geoff thought that there’d never be a time period that could top the Golden Age of piracy. He desperately missed those days. The endless sea, full of possibilities, stretched out before him, promising adventure, sword fights, and treasure. Sometimes Geoff wished he could go back, but of course, time marches on. Then the twenty-first century came along, and really, it was a huge blessing after the depressing, smoke-choked days of the Industrial Revolution. Suddenly the world was chock-full of distractions. Humans seemed to have turned their backs on hard work and were putting an emphasis on entertainment and convenience and it was _fantastic_. The drugs alone were enough to make it Geoff’s favorite era thus far. They weren’t refined, with subtle highs and low fatality. They were basically just poison, with wild, burning highs. They could kill you in an instant if you weren’t careful, and they made you do things like bite people’s faces off and shoot your own dick.

It wasn’t just taking drugs that was fun, it was also selling them. Geoff and Jack managed to make a little name for themselves as drug lords, based in the sin-loving city of Los Santos. It was actually a challenge. Gone were the days where immortality automatically put them at the top. They had to have business savvy. They had to play the game just right. It was amazingly addictive, almost more so than the drugs themselves. Yet, they weren’t satisfied. New times meant new crimes and now there were so many to choose from. Geoff didn’t want to _have_ to choose. He remembered the twenties, the way crime bosses built their empires with the help of a gang of loyal criminals. Mobs had their hands in every criminal cookie jar. Geoff had wanted a piece of that, but even with immortality, it was an impossible feat without help. Before Geoff could really consider building a crew, the thirties and the end of Prohibition put a stop to most organized crime in America. But now the opportunity was there again.

Geoff brought up his musings to Jack one blustery winter day, when the cold kept them indoors and pensieve. Jack was a little skeptical.

“I understand the desire but where are we going to find a crew? You remember our pirating days, right? We could hardly keep anyone around. People were terrified of our immortality. Everyone is a little less superstitious these days, but still… I don’t want to deal with a bunch annoying dicks again. Things are good with just the two of us. We understand each other.”

“Yes, well, actually, I was thinking… you remember that cow skull guy?” Jack shuddered and Geoff felt a little stupid for asking. Of course he remembered. Neither of them could forget. They still had nightmares, though not as frequently as when it was still fresh in their minds.

“Yeah, what about him?”

“He’s proof that there are others like us out there. What if we find them, Jack? What if we make a gang of immortals?” Geoff felt a burning passion in his chest as he spoke that took him by surprise. Maybe this wasn’t all about the crime. Part of him just wanted to find other people like them. Like an immortality support group. Jack seemed to consider Geoff’s words.

“Well… it’s impossible to say they’d be down with the idea of becoming part of a criminal enterprise, but… I can’t say the idea of meeting other immortals doesn’t interest me. Just as long as we don’t track down Ryan. I think I’ve had enough of him for one eternal lifetime.” Geoff chuckled.

“Yeah, of course.”

“How the hell are we going to find them, though?”

“We can search through old news stories, see if there’s anything about people coming back to life or surviving seemingly impossible circumstances. Then we can try to track them down from there.” Jack nodded.

“Well, alright then. Let’s get to work. Thank fucking god for the invention of the internet.”

  


Michael Vincent Jones. That was the first name they came across that looked promising. It took hours of slogging through junk sites that boasted such articles as women getting pregnant from fucking ten thousand year old mummies and exclusive interviews with Batboy, as well as sites discussing mythology, and strange forums full of nutters. Finally, though, Jack managed to uncover an old story that had been transcribed from a newspaper article from the fifties. A twenty-five year old arson suspect, Michael Jones, was caught in one of his own explosions. Jones suffered third and fourth degree burns over ninety percent of his body, yet somehow made a full recovery in a matter of hours. Doctors were baffled. Jones was taken into custody. Another article from a few months later reported that Jones had somehow escaped from prison. That was the last Geoff and Jack could find of the story. The article had a picture, though it was in black and white. A surly looking, freckled young man with curly hair. They had a name and a photo. Hopefully it would be enough.

It was easier that they thought it would be. It seemed Michael was still prone to arson, and already in the organized crime business. Apparently, whenever a criminal in New Jersey wanted something to explode, they would call in Jones. Geoff’s contacts in Los Santos reached out to _their_ contacts in New Jersey and were able to tell Geoff where he might be able find Jones. One plane ride later, Jack and Geoff were in New Jersey and headed into the worst part of Atlantic City. Michael’s apartment building was run down and infested with rats and roaches. Jack wrinkled his nose in disgust as they made their way to the elevators. “Jesus, it might not be so hard to convince him to join us. Sleeping on our couch would be better than living here.” Jack wanted to be out of this building as soon as possible.

“You’re probably right, but we have to see if he’s worth working with first. No one’s mentioned his age. He might actually just be a seventy-year old man who’s still in good enough shape to live a life of crime.” Jack snorted.

“And healed from fourth degree burns in a matter of hours?” Jack asked, skeptical. Geoff shrugged.

“Newspapers exaggerate.” Geoff led the way up to room 409. He knocked on the door and Jack shifted a bit nervously. The last time they met another one of their kind, it didn’t go so well. It seemed like this might be a similar experience when the door cracked open and a hand holding a gun was thrust through the crack.

“Tell Hernandez he can stick his dick up his own ass. I don’t know how many fucking times I have to tell you people I don’t have the cash yet. You shitheads come knocking again and I’ll blow this whole building sky fucking high, taking you and me with it.” Geoff and Jack exchanged glances. Well, he certainly had a mouth on him. Also, he didn’t _sound_ seventy, so that was promising.

Jack held up his hands defensively and next to him, Geoff did the same. “Relax. We come in peace. We’re actually looking to hire you,” Jack assured Michael gently. The gun withdrew and Michael threw the door wide open. Definitely not an old man, physically speaking. He looked just as young as he did in the article. It looked as though Michael was indeed an immortal.

“Oh, gee, why didn’t you say so? Just go ahead and come right into my house, Mr. and Mr. Not-At-All-Suspicious.” The gun was back again, pointed at Geoff’s chest. “I’m not a fucking idiot. People who want to hire me don’t come to my _house._ They get my work phone number from someone who knows someone. That’s how this shit works. So tell me why you’re really here.” It looked like they would have to get straight to the point.

“We know what you are, Michael,” Geoff started hesitantly. Michael scowled.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Michael may be playing dumb, but Jack saw how his grip tightened on the gun, noticed how his brows knit together. Jack pulled out the picture of the newspaper article he had folded up and tucked into his pocket. He had printed it out for just such an occasion. Michael stared at it, looking a little shocked. “What… what the hell do you want from me?” Jack and Geoff shared a look before Geoff spoke.

“We want you to join us.”


	2. Prometheus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *looks at Frankensteined relationship tag* it liiiiiives
> 
> So you may have noticed that I added Dan Gruchy and Jeremy Dooley to the relationship. I always feel bad when Dan gets left out of the lovefest and I haven't written Jeremy before and wanted to try my hand at it, so... OT8. Only the tag was too long so I had to tack Dan onto the end

Michael is lucky. At least, that’s what everyone tells him. Lucky he was born after the Great Depression, lucky his family did alright for themselves, and lucky so many girls would jump at the chance to go steady with him. In Michael’s opinion, that was all utter bullshit. He knew he was one unlucky fucker. Great Depression be damned, the fifties were depressing enough. All traditional values, repression, and beating women behind closed doors. Beating children, too. Michael had bruises to rival his mother’s, sometimes even worse than hers, because it was Michael who always caught his father’s drunken wrath. All the money in the world wasn’t worth having to put up with his father. As for the girls, well, it was true that somehow Michael had managed to catch the attention of a few of them. However, it hardly mattered as Michael was hopelessly gay. Michael had done everything in his power to quash down his sexuality, but it seemed the more he tried to ignore it, the more fiercely it reared its head whenever attractive men were around. This tended to bite him in the ass when said men caught him staring. Michael sometimes had a hard time figuring out which of his injuries were caused by his father, and which were caused by his classmates, the cries of “faggot” still echoing loudly in his ears.

It was all too much sometimes. Society expecting so much from him, because his family had some money, because it was the fifties instead of the thirties, because Michael’s life was apparently oh-so-perfect. It made him angry, destructive, and above all, _loud._ He would scream his creative curses at the top of his lungs, and feel satisfied seeing people scatter away, startled. It gave Michael a sick sense of vindication when people would shake their heads and loudly wonder what went wrong with his upbringing. _Yeah, that’s fucking god damned right,_ Michael would think, _My life isn’t so fucking perfect after all, is it?_

  


Perhaps Michael could have still led a normal enough life if his behavioral problems had ended there, but there was only so much catharsis in shocking people. It was nothing compared to the raw thrill of starting fires. Michael had discovered his love of arson at an early age. Michael’s father had dropped a book of matches and Michael, ten at the time, was quick to snatch them up. He had seen his father use them before and to young Michael, setting the matches alight had looked like a mysterious magic trick. Michael was desperate to recreate the trick. Locking himself in his bedroom, he set about flicking the matches against the book, like he had seen his father do countless times. It took a few tries and several broken matches before Michael was holding a little ball of fire in his hand. It was transfixing, the tiny, bright flame dancing on the head of the match.

Michael was so mesmerized, he failed to notice the flame inching closer to his fingers until it was too late. He dropped the match to the carpet with a yelp, tears springing to his eyes. He put his fingers in his mouth, sucking on them, before he realized that the carpet had caught fire. Michael’s heart seized and he blew on the fire desperately, but it only served to make the flames spread faster. Michael ran to the bathroom and filled his cupped hands with water. He bolted back to his room but by the time he got back, most of the water had run out of his hands. He was full on sobbing now. He knew he should get his parents, but he was terrified of getting into trouble. The thought of what Michael’s father would do to him struck enough fear in his heart that he would rather face off against an inferno. The fire consumed more and more of Michael’s bedroom, gaining astronomical speed once it reached his bed. Michael’s door was flung open and Michael shrunk back from the sight of his parents, their eyes wide and mouths set in a frown. His mother shrieked upon seeing the roaring blaze and Michael’s father grabbed Michael’s arm tightly, yanking him out of the room and out of the house. The family huddled together as Michael's father called the fire department.

Michael couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of the fire licking out of his bedroom window. Michael knew it was supposed to be terrible. All his things were being destroyed. But his heart was hammering in chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and his father, usually so powerful and angry, looked diminished and frightened. Michael had done that. For once, Michael had the control and his father had none. Michael caught a tremendous beating later that night, when the family found out what happened, but Michael would no longer be cowed by his dad’s violence. Michael clung to the idea that it was his father who should be afraid of _Michael._

  


It was easy, Michael discovered, to steal matches from stores that wouldn't sell them to children. A little matchbook, slipped into his pocket while he was buying gum. Just as easy as lighting a park tree on fire while chewing that gum. The thrill of that destructive force spreading through the neighborhood, threatening homes, threatening lives, threatening _Michael_ as he let it crawl closer to him. The heat clung to his skin, a comforting warmth. He was tempted sometimes, to let the flames overtake him. He wasn't suicidal, but everything about fire was intoxicating to Michael. He longed to experience it firsthand. He resisted temptation, however, and moved on to bigger fires. Michael moved on to abandoned buildings, and then on to his own school, waiting until night, when it was empty and silent. Despite coming home smelling of smoke, sometimes with singed clothes and ash smeared skin, Michael’s parents never suspected him of being responsible for the string of arsons in their city. This was unsurprising to Michael. They hardly paid him much mind. They probably wouldn’t even notice if he came home riding an elephant as long nothing they cared about got broken.

Michael soon got bored with just lighting matches and began experimenting with how to cause maximum damage before the fire department could get to the scene. It wasn’t long until he began trying his hand at explosives. When he started out, he could only make crude homemade bombs that didn’t do nearly as much damage as Michael wanted and were unpredictable at best. High school chemistry class was a godsend for him. He had access to volatile chemicals, in addition to the knowledge of which ones would make the biggest, most explosive fireballs if mixed. He was also able to innocently pose questions about which household items could be used to ill effect, making it seem like he was being safety conscious. He found out he could make a decent bomb with some sparklers and aerosol cans, but even baking soda, cat litter, and orange juice had their uses.

This penchant for breaking the law soon found him falling in with “the wrong sort” as Michael’s mother would put it. A little motorbike gang of greasers. Michael didn’t see the harm in them. He was probably the worst in the group. All they did wrong was a bit of vandalism, smoking, and underage drinking. Even though Michael didn’t exactly share their fashion sense, they gravitated towards him, fascinated by his pension for lighting fires and by his ease in brushing off authority. They were cute, like a group of angry puppies or something. As Michael didn’t have much of a desire to lead he usually deferred to Burnie, the eldest of the lot. Michael liked him quite a bit. He was ruggedly handsome and smarter than your average societal reject. Of course, Michael kept a tight lid on his crush. He didn’t exactly feel like getting the shit kicked out of him, as well as losing his circle of friends.

  


He would have been perfectly content taking his secret to his grave had it not been for a mixture of adrenaline and booze. Michael and his friends were spending the night tucked away in the local park, drinking and setting off bottle rockets and various other fireworks. Normally they just drank beer, but someone had the brilliant idea to bring whiskey, and everyone was getting a lot drunker than usual. Everyone except Michael, who was steadfastly refusing to drink the harder stuff. He was nervous of getting blackout drunk. How would he get home then? The night was wrapping up, and Michael had done a fantastic job of resisting peer pressure until a _very_ drunk Burnie sidled up to him. Michael was startled to feel a hand tangle into his curls, holding his head in place as Burnie pressed the cool, glass rim of the whiskey bottle to Michael’s lips. “Come on, man, just a sip,” he slurred. Michael swallowed thickly and found it much harder to say no to Burnie, especially with all the physical contact going on. He gave in. It was predictably horrible tasting, but he managed to suppress his disgusted reaction. He couldn’t suppress, however, the pleased shiver that ran through him when Burnie hummed with approval and said, “Good boy.” Burnie seemed to have noticed, which was pretty impressive given his drunken state. The glass bottle on his lips was removed to be replaced by Burnie’s own lips. Michael was shocked. He felt his heart skip two beats, but that didn’t stop him from kissing back. For just a moment, everything felt right with the world. Then Michael and Burnie were roughly yanked apart. It was funny how fast the people you considered friends could stab you in the back. Burnie didn’t talk to Michael again after that night. None of them did. Michael didn’t blame Burnie, though. He was just a scared, gay kid in the fifties. Michael could relate.

  


He didn’t quite accept his sexuality until a month into his prison sentence, which may have not been the best timing, but it was better than never. It had been a matter of time until he found himself cornered while setting a bomb. Michael had always enjoyed the adrenaline rush of an explosion, the danger of it, but suddenly he felt a little less than inclined to risk his life now that he was staring down the barrels of several guns. Panicking, Michael scrambled to come up with a way out of the situation. He had a few cherry bombs on him. Maybe if he dropped one and it went off, the officers would think Michael had set off the actual bomb, and in their scramble for cover, Michael could get away. He would have to move fast, though. “Don’t shoot,” Michael snapped. “This thing is rigged to fucking blow. If I die, you all die with me.” As he spoke, he fumbled discreetly in his jacket, lighting a cherry bomb and letting it fall to the ground. It went off with a loud crack and predictably, all of the officers flinched and stumbled backwards. Michael took this opportunity to book it, failing to notice that the actual bomb had been caught in the small explosion. He made it about one foot before the larger bomb went off. The blast completely engulfed Michael and for a moment, for one glorious moment, he finally was one with his fire. The moment was over quickly. The blast had knocked him off his feet and his head cracked against a wall painfully, effectively knocking him unconscious. By the time his body was pulled from the rubble, it was burned beyond recognition.

The next thing Michael knew, he was naked and freezing cold. He couldn't see anything. He tried to sit up but his head knocked against something when he tried. What the fuck? He felt around the best he could, but he was in a very confined space. All he could feel was cool metal, completely surrounding him, as well as frigid air pressing in all around him. Michael’s throat tightened with fear. What was going on? He banged his hands against the walls. “Hey! Can anyone here me?! Help!” Considering the last thing he remembered was trying to escape the police, he didn't have high hopes for someone rushing to his aid but he had to try. After a few minutes of banging and shouting, his prayers were answered. Suddenly he felt movement, heard something like a drawer being opened and then his eyes were assaulted with light. He blinked, clearing his vision. There was a man, dressed in scrubs with a surgical mask over his face. He looked terrified and this was confirmed when Michael sat up and he started screaming and backing away.

“Impossible!” Michael groaned.

“Not so loud. I have a headache.” Michael rubbed his temples and looked around, trying to get his bearings. Wait… wait, he recognized this place. Had seen it before in newspapers and on television. It was a fucking _morgue._ Had they thought he was dead? Why? “Cool it,” Michael snapped when the man kept whimpering. “I was just unconscious.”

“You were _burned black.”_ The man burst out. Michael blinked. What? He didn’t even feel or see any burns. Which was strange, actually. He had definitely been on fire there, for a minute. “You were just _bone_ in some places!” Michael scowled, disbelieving.

“That’s impossible.” The man glared right back.

“That’s what I said! But we have photos.” Michael stomach gave a funny little flip. Photos? What this guy was saying couldn’t possibly be true, could it? He didn’t want to look at the pictures the man shoved under his nose but he did anyway. Michael had to run to the nearest trashcan to empty his lunch into it. Eventually, he regained some composure and he stood up, wiping his mouth.

“That… that can’t be me.” Michael couldn’t wrap his head around it.

“It is! They brought you in from… the… crime scene.” Michael’s eyes widened as he realized exactly what the man was thinking. Michael spun around and bolted for the front door at the same time the man did. The man was closer. He slammed the door and locked it behind him. Michael pounded on the door.

“Let me out of here, asshole!” There was no response and Michael sighed, sliding down to sit on the floor. He remembered he was naked and sighed again. Today was going to be a long day.

  


If only it had only just been a bad day. Michael was arrested and sentenced to life in prison. It turned out that last explosion took out a few cops as well, so Michael wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. At first, the media had a lot of interest in him. He was supposedly some sort of miracle, after all, coming back from being burned to the bone. The interviews helped pass the time, a godsend for someone in solitary, where Michael spent most of his time due to poor behavior. He got letters, too. Hate mail, mostly. Apparently he was the cause of many people losing their faith in God. Who was Michael to deserve such a blessing when their loved ones died from much less severe injuries? Michael was inclined to agree with them. He was just some lowlife. Why did he deserve a second chance?

It wasn’t until four months later that Michael found out that his recovery was no random act of God. He was fighting, as he was often wont to do. To be fair, this time it wasn't his fault. He may be well known as the resident pretty boy who enjoyed taking it up the ass from time to time but that didn't mean just anyone could fuck him whenever they wanted. When Random McFuck started getting grabby, Michael got punchy. He didn't see the glint of the knife until it was too late. He felt the blade bite into his throat, the gush of warm, sticky blood as he fell to his knees. There was a sound like a noise being let out of a balloon, and he realized he was the one making the sound, desperately trying to suck in air through his slit throat. Before his lungs could even start burning, however, he bled out, collapsing into a growing pool of his own blood.

Michael awoke to the sound of a raucous commotion. He was aware he was still laying face down in his blood, which, _ew, fucking gross_. He sat up quickly, heard a shout of surprise next to him, but ignored that in favor of spitting out a mouthful of coppery liquid. He was going to be sick. His throat was _aching_ but more like he had a really bad sore throat and less like he had a slit throat. There was no more high-pitched whining noises issuing from him every time he tried to breathe. In fact, he was breathing just fine. He felt his throat. His fingers slipped through blood, sliding over smooth, undamaged skin. He was definitely going to be sick. So, it seemed, was the nurse staring in shock at Michael. The sheet was trembling in her hands and she looked pale. She dropped the sheet and ran to the nearest trashcan, retching into it. “You know,” Michael said, voice was thick and gravelly, “you probably should look into a different line of work if you can’t handle a little blood.” She whirled around to face him, hand wiping at her mouth.

“H-how?” she asked weakly, trembling visibly. And boy, that was the million dollar question, wasn’t it? Michael should be dead. _Again._ But he wasn’t. There was no trace of any wound and it was hard enough to write off the first time as some sort of weird medical miracle but this… this was just insanity and though Michael was afraid to say it, he knew it was true. He, for whatever fucking reason, couldn’t die. Which was _bullshit_ because he had a _life sentence._ He was going to rot in fucking jail until this building crumbled down around him.

“It’s… more blood than it looks like?” Michael offered in a pathetic attempt to salvage the situation. The nurse bought it, but Michael was fairly sure she was just grasping at straws to keep her worldview from shattering. Michael’s stomach lurched and he shot to his feet to try to run to the trash can. This was a colossal mistake. He skidded on the puddle of blood and landed hard on his back, thoroughly coating the last bit of him that had thus far managed to remain blood-free. Fuck it. What was the point of getting it in the trash at this point? Michael cocked his head to the side and emptied his stomach contents. A little bit of lunch and a lot more blood. Fuck. He was a mess. He dry heaved a few times before he figured that despite the absolute disgusting situation he was in, there was just nothing left in him.

The racket Michael had woken up to was still going on and he pushed himself into a sitting position, looking towards the source of the noise. His murderer (ex-murderer?) was putting up quite the fight while the guards tried to haul him away. He was providing quite the distraction to the guards and vice versa, so none of them seemed aware that Michael had risen from the dead. Michael got to his feet once more, this time much more slowly. He gripped the lunch tables as he made his way over to the crowd. His sneakers squelched on the waxed floor, leaving smeared, bloody footprints in Michael’s wake. He was halfway there when one of the guards caught sight of him and just fucking _fainted_. Michael had never seen anyone faint before, but that was no doubt what had happened. The guard’s eyes had bugged out of his head and he mouthed wordlessly before dropping like a stone. It was actually kind of hilarious, though he supposed it was understandable. Michael knew what he must look like. Covered head to toe in blood, seemingly back from the dead, slowly advancing toward them. He was like a fucking zombie from the depths Hell. As soon as the guard hit the floor, everyone else turned toward him. There were terrified shouts, Random McFuckface let out a howl like a wounded dog and tried to hide behind a guard half his size. All the guards drew their guns and pointed them at Michael. “Jesus fucking Christ, what in the _hell_ is _that?_ ” one of the guards yelped. Michael rolled his eyes.

“Cool it, cats. It’s just Michael. I just got a little goopy back there, but I’m fine.” The guards and Random seemed much less inclined to take the easy way out than the nurse was. They all exchanged glances, some of the guards lowered their weapons, but didn’t holster them.

“You need to go to the nurse’s office, Jones,” said a guard, his voice trembling just slightly. Michael shook his head.

“I’m fine. I just need a shower.” Michael kept making his way towards them, enjoying the look of terror on their faces, still present despite the fact that they probably didn’t actually believe he was a zombie.

“Go to the nurse’s office!” the same guard snapped but Michael didn’t stop moving forward.

“Why? She’ll just make me go to the showers anyway. What’s the matter? You guys look all freaked out.” Michael grinned wide, showing off his teeth, and delighted when the others flinched back. Normally the guards wouldn’t hesitate to take Michael out for not listening, but now they were stealing furtive glances at each other and shuffling uncomfortably. They all took a few steps away from him once he finally reached them. Michael wondered just how far he could push the guards before they retaliated. First things first, to deal with Grabby Fuckhead. Michael approached him and the other man cycled backwards, whimpering when his back hit the wall.

“Jones,” one of the guards said, a note of warning in his voice. Michael ignored him and drew his arm back before cracking his fist against Grabby’s jaw. Michael felt a surge of satisfaction when the man simply continued to cower and the guards remained hesitant to touch him. Michael had never felt so powerful before. “Jones!” the guard from before snapped. Michael rammed his fist into Random’s stomach. Grabby wheezed and with a terrified yelp, shoved Michael away and bolted down the hall. Most of the guards chased after him, probably glad for the excuse to get away from Michael. Though Michael had landed painfully on his ass, he howled with laughter. He was most likely adding to the remaining guards’ unease, but in Michael's mind, that was just an added bonus to what had taken place.

“Well,” Michael said, after regaining composure, “come on, then. _Someone_ has to take me to the showers.”

“Not it!” squeaked one of the last two remaining guards before running off, ignoring the death glare he received from his coworker. Michael clambered back to his feet and grinned.

“Looks like you’re the brave volunteer.” The guard rolled his eyes.

“Whatever. You try anything, Jones, and I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your brain.” Michael just snorted. Not like that would do anything. There wasn’t shit anyone could do to him anymore. Michael’s thought process ground to a halt. There… wasn’t shit anyone could do to him anymore. Michael _wasn’t_ going to be in jail until the jail itself ceased to exist. Immortality made prison escape fairly simple. He just needed time to work out the logistics. It wasn’t like he _couldn’t_ die, just that he didn’t stay dead. And it seemed recovery time varied. Michael wondered if it was random, or depended on the type of death he suffered. It was important to find out because he wouldn’t make any progress if his body got hauled off to the jail’s morgue every time a guard shot him. Also, there wasn’t anything immortality could do to protect him from being merely incapacitated. Tasers would be his biggest problem. Michael had some planning to do.

  


It took Michael a month before he felt sure enough of his plan to put it into action. Most of that month was seducing his cellblock’s guard, Jeremy which, sure, wasn’t _strictly_ necessary, but it would make things a little easier and it was fun, to boot. Since the “Cafeteria Incident,” as the guards referred to it, Michael had been confined to solitary on a permanent basis. He had argued that technically the whole thing was Grabby’s fault, but it had fallen on deaf ears. Of course it had. They weren’t keeping Michael in solitary because they blamed him for what happened, they were doing it because they were scared of Michael. Which they damn well should be. In any case, it turned out to be an advantage. There were less chances of getting caught and no cellmates to deal with, Michael shivered as Jeremy’s hands slipped up Michael’s stomach under his uniform. Jeremy was fairly cute, and it didn’t hurt that he wasn’t as much of a dick as a lot of prison guards tended to be. Michael was a little remorseful about what he was going to do, but really, Jeremy was kind of asking for it. He was far too trusting, entering a prisoner’s cell with his gun still strapped to his waist. Jeremy kissed Michael behind his ear and Michael let out a soft sigh, relaxing into the touch but still hyper aware of where Jeremy’s weapon was. Michael’s own hands were placed on Jeremy’s hips, his left hand hovering just above the firearm. Michael had already used a combination of his pickpocketing skills and his kissing skills to get the button on the holster undone without Jeremy noticing. Michael shoved his knee between Jeremy’s thighs, sucking gently on his throat. “No hickies,” Jeremy whimpered and Michael chuckled softly.

“Sorry.” Michael moved behind Jeremy and ground his semi into Jeremy’s ass. Jeremy let out a groan. “We’re wearing too many clothes,” Michael growled. Once Jeremy was distracted with removing his shirt, Michael could grab the gun.

“Yeah,” Jeremy brought his fingers up to his shirt buttons. “Michael?”

“Yeah?” Michael breathed into Jeremy’s ear. Jeremy hesitated and Michael tensed. Shit, had he been found out?

“I just… I know this is wrong but I just really like you.” Aw, _shit._ Now Michael felt like a real asshole. There was a moment where Michael entertained the idea that Jeremy _was_ onto Michael and now he was trying to guilt Michael into changing his mind, but Jeremy had turned to look at him and Michael could see the hopeful yet nervous look on Jeremy’s face. Jeremy was being earnest and Michael was a real asshole. This was too important to Michael to spare Jeremy’s feelings, though, and beside what was he going to do? Seduce a _different_ guard that was a bigger asshole?

“In that case, Jeremy, I’m real fucking sorry about this.” Michael tried not to notice the way Jeremy’s face fell as he snatched Jeremy’s gun and pressed the barrel to Jeremy’s temple. Man, it was a good thing Michael couldn’t die, otherwise he would be going straight to Hell.

“Michael!” Jeremy’s voice conveyed all the hurt and betrayal it possibly could. “What… what are you doing?”

“I wish I could say I’m just being kinky, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to hold you hostage for a bit, Jeremy.” Michael wrapped his arm around Jeremy’s throat, keeping the other man pressed tight against him and he really should have figured out a way to do this after getting off because his semi hadn’t gotten the message they weren’t about to have sex anymore.

“God, Michael, please don’t do this.” Michael walked towards the unlocked cell door, kicking it open. It was slow going, having to force Jeremy to walk in front of him the whole way.

“Relax, Jeremy,” Michael said in what he hoped was a soothing tone of voice. “If you don’t struggle, I won’t have to shoot you. I really don’t want to shoot you. I _do_ like you, you know.” Jeremy snorted in disbelief at that. Michael frowned. “I _do._ I don’t want to have to hurt you. I just want out of this hellhole.” Michael wasn’t sure if Jeremy believed him or not, but he did seem to relax more, and moved more easily with Michael. “‘Atta boy,” Michael purred, and didn’t miss the shiver that ran through Jeremy. Michael let out a small sigh of relief. Michael still felt bad about this but maybe he wasn’t leaving Jeremy with years of trauma and trust issues to work through, so that was something. Might be leaving him with a gun kink, though, but there were worse things to be into.

It didn’t take too long before Michael had the attention of every staff member in the prison, as well as few of the inmates. Michael could hear jeers coming from the nearby cells, but he was much more focused on the shouting police officers who were pointing guns at him. “Everybody relax!” Michael snapped. “No one has to die as long as you let me walk out of prison.” Now this was the part Michael had put the most thought into. He could get out sure, but he was likely to get shot as soon as he let Jeremy go. He could keep Jeremy hostage until he got a few miles away from the prison but there was no doubt the police would find a way to follow him. And even if he got away today, who knew what tomorrow would hold? He would have to live his life on lam. No, the only way Michael was making it out of this prison with his freedom assured was if people thought he was dead for good. The prison was sitting on a high cliff, below which was a deep, wide, delta river. Jumping into it from the cliff would be suicide and it wouldn’t be far fetched for them to never find a body. Once Michael resurrected, he could forge himself a new identity, start a new life, blow shit up again.

“What are your demands?” snapped someone Michael vaguely recognized as the warden.

“Just let me out of prison. Not too difficult, right?” The police muttered amongst themselves. Michael rolled his eyes. “I haven’t got all day, boys.” Michael grinned wickedly. “Neither does Jeremy.” Jeremy tensed against him and Michael cooed reassuring words softly in his ear, too quiet for the others to hear.

“Fine!” It was the sheriff who spoke, and his voice had an edge of panic in it. Michael smirked. The sheriff muttered something into his walkie talkie. Michael would be more concerned about that if he had been planning a more traditional means of escape. As it were, he was pretty sure they weren’t going to be able to predict his actions. “Come on then,” the sheriff said gruffly. Michael was all too happy to follow the police outside of the prison walls. Once they were out, the sheriff stopped between the prison and city road. “Well, you’re out. Hand Mr. Dooley over, Jones.”

“Do I look stupid? I’m keeping my hostage until I’m sure you can’t follow me.” Instead of moving forward towards the city, like the police were obviously expecting him too, Michael started walking backwards. Jeremy stumbled a little, but Michael kept him upright. Predictably, the police followed him, and, also predictably, all seemed pretty damned confused.

“Where the hell you going, son?” the warden asked, but Michael didn’t answer. He just kept walking until he stepped behind the prison and everyone seemed to suck in a collective breath, all realizing at once what he was thinking when the cliff came into view. “Are you _insane?_ ” the warden snapped at the same time Jeremy whimpered out,

“Michael, _no._ ” He sounded genuinely concerned and Michael was a little touched, as well as hit with a fresh new wave of guilt for using Jeremy as a hostage. Ah, well, too late to go back now.

“Just stay back, all of you. I’m going to take a little dive but my gun isn’t moving from this spot until I do. So there’s no stopping me.” Jeremy was all tense again, and beginning to squirm. “Relax, relax,” Michael muttered to him.

“Fuck you,” Jeremy spat, _“You_ relax! You’re going to die, idiot!” Michael can’t help but chuckle at that.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“What? You’re _insane.”_ Jeremy snapped. Michael suddenly recalled that Jeremy never did believe the stories about Michael, what happened in the cafeteria and with the bomb. “And I’m not playing your fucking game anymore.” Michael winced at the hurt evident in Jeremy’s voice. “I’m not letting you _use_ me, anymore.” Shit, things were quickly spiraling out of control. Jeremy seemed to have called Michael’s bluff, because he seemed wholly unconcerned that Michael would actually shoot him here. He started struggling fiercely.

“Jeremy, it’s not like that.” The struggling didn’t cease. “Jeremy, stop!” Michael begged desperately. The police, for their part, seemed to be taking notice that Michael was failing to keep his hostage under control despite having a gun trained on him. They probably also noticed that Michael seemed to be on first name basis with his hostage. They were putting the pieces together and soon they’d realize that Michael wouldn’t shoot Jeremy.

“Let go! Let go, let go, stop touching me.” Jeremy sounded close to hysterics. Michael was almost afraid all the wriggling around would cause Michael to pull the trigger by accident. At the very least, it would make it difficult for one of the officers to get a clean shot at Michael. This was going to shit. Michael needed a new tactic. He flicked the gun’s safety on and grabbed Jeremy’s shoulders, spinning him around. Before anyone could make a move, he crashed his lips against Jeremy’s. Jeremy went stock still, Michael could see through half-lidded eyes that Jeremy’s own eyes were flung open wide. Jeremy made a few weak attempts to push Michael away before relaxing into the kiss. Michael cursed himself for playing with Jeremy’s feelings again, but he needed something to make everyone just sort of stop for a minute. No doubt this would shock everyone enough to do just that. Michael pulled back and planned to run, but Michael didn’t think he could really live with himself if he just left Jeremy in the lurch again.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I _do_ like you,” Michael reiterated his previous statement.

“Michael--” But Michael didn’t stick around to hear what Jeremy was going to say. He only had a limited time before everyone’s shock wore off and they began shooting or tasing him. Michael bolted, ignoring everyone else’s shouting and leapt off the cliff. His plan was to hit the water, probably drown, and wash up on shore a few miles away. From there he could shoplift some clothes, dye his hair and get it cut. Get a new identity, a new life. His plan did not include smashing painfully into solid ground and not dying, but wishing very desperately that he had. Today did not seem to be Michael’s day in terms of plans panning out.

Michael groaned. Everything felt broken, except, apparently, the vital stuff. He was in so much pain, He grit his teeth. It felt like being stabbed by a hundred knives all in various parts of his body. Shit. He had to get to the water. His plan wouldn’t exactly work if his body mysteriously disappeared from dry land. They had to think he was sleeping with the fishes or whatever. Michael just sort of wanted to shoot himself in the head and be done with it, but he began making a valiant effort to get to the river.. He half scooted, half dragged himself towards the shoreline, one arm limp and useless, legs completely immobile. There was still shouting above, he could hear it. There was a loud noise and a rock near him exploded. Fuck, they were shooting at him? Who the hell shot at a man dragging broken legs around? God damn it, he had to make it to the water. Then they could shoot him all they wanted.

The first touch of cold water, lapping at his fingers was like heaven-send because he _fucking made it._ Then Michael realized it was fucking freezing and he might not drown at all, because he’d be too busy being an icicle. He should have waited until summer to execute this plan, not the middle of god damned January. Another bullet whizzed past him. It was now or never. “You assholes couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn!” Michael yelled hoarsely before hauling himself into the water. A scream tore itself from his throat, as all of his broken bones were suddenly being jostled about, nothing solid to support them. At least that distracted him from the bone-chilling cold. He needed to die, he wanted to die, he had to die. Michael tried to bring the gun up to his head but suddenly not even his decent arm was cooperating. The current sucked him under the water and Michael came up spluttering. The pain was subsiding, thank god, due to the numbing effect of the freezing water. Okay, he could do this. He spared a glance up at the cliff. He was already swept away enough that he was far out of range of the police revolvers, though he could see all of their guns raised at him anyway. He noticed someone being restrained by two other people. Jeremy, probably. He was going to be questioned on his involvement with Michael. Hopefully Jeremy was a good liar. Okay, they had to think he drowned. Which meant that it would probably be best if he actually drowned. He dunked his head underwater, steeled himself, and then opened his mouth to take a deep breath. He shot above the surface immediately, hacking. Oh god. Oh _god_. This was going to _suck._ His lungs were burning, his eyes were watering and god, he just wanted to die already. He coughed up a good amount of water, undoing precious progress. He dived back down and took another lungful of muddy liquid. Was it too much to ask that it didn’t taste terrible, too? Wasn’t he suffering enough? His vision was getting fuzzy. He didn’t go back to the surface. It was a relief when he blacked out.

Michael realized two very unpleasant facts upon reawakening. Number one: it was possible to resurrect while actively dying. He was still in the river, and he felt very warm, which he knew meant he was the late stages of hypothermia. He’d probably die again after dragging himself out of the water. Number two: dying wasn’t exactly a hard reset. While most of his broken bones and bruises were gone, a painful twinge in his chest as he heaved himself up onto dry land told Michael at least one of his ribs was still broken. His muscles still ached and there were little shallow cuts over his torso that he had gotten from his rough landing. Either dying didn’t completely heal all non-fatal injuries, or dying just didn’t fully heal injuries he received in non-fatal incidents. Either way, he was wet, shaking, and in pain. His breathing was shallow and when the wind howled through the trees above him, he felt himself fade away again.

  


Michael sucked in a gasping breath when he came to again. He was fucking _freezing,_ which Michael supposed was a good sign, but it didn’t make him any less miserable. He pulled himself to his feet. He needed dry clothes. He’d been planning on shoplifting but that was too much hassle. He was clearly identifiable as a convict in his grey scrubs, prison number emblazoned on the front of his shirt. He whipped off his shirt and was surprised to feel a little less cold. He was tempted to take off his wet pants as well, but then he might be arrested for indecent exposure, and that would really put a puncture in the whole “prison escape” plan. He dropped his shirt back in the river, hoping it would serve as evidence that Michael had drowned. He managed to find his way to a Salvation Army. Not his first choice. He didn’t exactly feel like listening to a sermon, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Wincing, he pushed his way into the building and practically moaned in relief when warm air, almost burning hot on his frozen skin, hit him immediately. “Oh my!” Michael jumped at the sudden voice and turned to see a nearby worker, looking quite startled herself, her hand over her mouth. “What happened to you?”

“Fell in the river. Need dry clothes, but I lost my wallet in the water. You wouldn’t happen to be able to spare a sweater and some pants, would you?” The woman nodded.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find you something!” Michael could have kissed her when she pushed an outfit into his arms in record speed and pointed him towards a changing room. Michael didn’t waste any time in entering the room and pulling off his wet clothes, replacing them with the new ones. They were a bit loose on him but it was a huge relief to be wearing something warm and dry. He only wished he had some dry shoes but those would have to wait until tomorrow. For now, he shambled out and offered the woman a smile.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, sweetie. Do you need a ride home?” Michael swallowed thickly, suddenly very aware of his situation. He didn’t actually have anywhere to stay. His parents had disowned him, and even if they hadn’t, he couldn’t exactly just swing by if he was supposed to be dead.

“I don’t actually have a place to go,” he admitted. The woman made a pitying noise which would normally get under Michael’s skin, but as it was, he was desperate not to spend the night shivering outdoors, so the woman could pity him all she wanted as long as she helped him.

“We provide emergency housing. I’m about to close up here. I’ll take you over to the shelter.”

Living at the shelter wasn’t ideal. It was cramped, it smelled terrible, and there were always cops because this many down on their luck people packed together meant a lot of crime. But it was still warm and out of the elements. It gave Michael a place to stay and lay low. He cut his hair short, dyed his red hair dark brown, and developed a penchant for wearing sunglasses, hoodies, and beanies. Getting a new identity was shockingly easy. He didn’t even have to lie when he said he lost all of his identifying papers/cards. Granted, he had to lie about basically everything else, but either way, he was no longer Michael Jones. At least not as far as society at large was concerned. It would be an identity he would reclaim in many years time, once “the” Michael Jones could no longer conceivably look his age.

Eventually, through pickpocketing and mugging, Michael was able to afford his own place. It was shitty place, in a shitty part of town, but it was his. Conceivably, he could have moved to some place better once he started getting hired by other criminals to blow shit up, but a mixture of sentimentality and laziness kept him in one place. Besides, it wasn’t like he was making serious money. He would have only been able to afford some middle class apartment in a similar neighborhood. Not a massive improvement.

  


Not a lot changed for Michael in sixty years. He went from spending his time reading comic books and causing explosions to spending his time playing video games, cruising the net, and causing explosions. It was a comfortable life, surprisingly easy, and devastatingly boring. None of these criminals wanted to do anything ambitious. It was enough to make a guy want to blow _himself_ up. Which Michael did a few times, due to, as he put it “premature explosive discharge,” as well as maybe a few times for fun. There was something cathartic about dying that way. It was more satisfying than tossing his controller at the wall or slamming doors. If something really didn’t go his way, blowing himself up along with whatever was pissing him off usually went a long way in calming him down. Yet, not even exploding himself into tiny little pieces could relieve his boredom.

Eventually he turned to drugs, adding onto his pre-existing love affair with alcohol and it managed to help a little. He didn’t stay high for very long, just like he never stayed drunk for very long, but for a few moments, he could forget about how there was nothing and there would be nothing for an eternity. There was a bit of reprieve when he met Ray, but seeing as the other immortal was just as horrifically bored as Michael, they didn’t exactly cure each other’s malaise. They usually just ended up getting high together. Which was where Hernandez came in. Some low life drug dealer Michael and Ray ended up owing a lot of money to when they both overindulged a bit. Who knew there was even dealers who allowed people to keep tabs instead of paying up front? Clearly, Hernandez was an idiot, and he was an idiot who wasn’t getting paid because, honestly, both Michael and Ray had better things to spend their limited cash on, such as a stupid amount of Xbox games. What was Hernandez going to do, anyway? Shoot them? Hah. Still, Hernandez was nothing if not persistent and Michael was getting seriously tired of him sending his friends to pester Michael. He was going to shoot the next one he saw, he swore on his unending life. Which is why, when he heard a knock on his door at a time he knew Ray would still be sleeping, he grabbed his gun.

  


Geoff and Jack, they introduced themselves as. A pair of immortals far older than either Michael or Ray. Older than them put together, even. Michael was taken aback that they had any interest in him. And they seemed to have a very strange request for Michael. “You… want me to join a fake gang?” Michael questioned after Jack and Geoff explained what they wanted from Michael. Geoff frowned.

“No, no. We want you to join a _real_ gang that’s _called_ the Fakes.” Michael frowned back, still confused.

“Why?” It was Jack who answered this time.

“Well, we’re planning on collecting whatever immortals we can find, but we’ve read news and police reports on your ‘work’ and we find it fairly impressive.” Michael shook his head, though he appreciated the ego boost.

“No, I mean, why is it called the Fakes?” Geoff laughed and Jack rolled his eyes, though seemingly at Geoff, not at Michael.

“Because Geoff is silly,” Jack explained, with a long suffering sigh. Geoff flapped a hand at Jack.

“Because I’m both brilliant and hilarious. The full name is actually Fake Achievement Hunters. See, back in the day, Jack and I used to have this pirate ship, Achievement Hunter. But piracy kind of stopped being a big thing and we moved on. Kept the logo, though.”

“With a few tweaks,” Jack added and Geoff nodded.

“It’s a duck now. Anyway, the point is the Achievement Hunters were our pirate crew, but since that’s all over now, my new crew can be the _Fake_ Achievement Hunters. Get it?” 

“That’s… fucking stupid.” Perhaps he was making a poor first impression, but Michael had never been one to mince words. “Cool you guys were pirates, though.” Geoff pouted at Michael, and with Geoff’s sleepy eyes, he managed to look quite forlorn. Michael almost felt guilty. “So what do you want me to do? Blow a lock on a safe? Set fire to someone’s house to send a message?” Michael was considering Geoff and Jack’s offer, figuring if he had to do more of the same, he might as well get steady employment. Michael and Ray had always preferred contract work before, not wanting to have to lick the boots of some power crazed asshole. But these two seemed harmless. Neither seemed like bossy dicks, even if they did seem incompetent. That was something Michael could deal with. For all Michael cared, they could botch all their missions as long as they had fun doing it. Geoff looked somewhat disappointed by his questions.

“I mean, yeah, I guess, those things. But I thought you could do more than that, from what I heard…” Michael shot Geoff a withering look.

“I _can_ but most people don’t want more than that. You saying you do?” Michael’s interest was a little more piqued now.

“Yeah, obviously. We’re _immortal,_ Michael, and Jack and I are already rich as fuck. I couldn’t care less about some spare cash from a little safe. I want to bring the city to its knees, and have some fun doing it.” There was an excited glint in Geoff’s eyes that Michael was sure matched his own. Michael grinned wide.

 _”Now_ you’re talking my language."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up is Ray


	3. Sisyphus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casually drops 3rd chapter of fic six months later at 2 am. **tw: suicide attempt**

Geoff could tell already this guy was going to be a ton of fun. It was hard to tell, however, if he was going to make a good crew member. Michael reminded Geoff an awful lot of some of his old pirate crew, foul-mouthed, destructive, and wild. Only loyal to Geoff when it suited them. He could see Jack had the same concerns. Roughly 650 years together meant they could practically read each other’s minds and the little furrow of Jack’s brow as he surveyed Michael said a lot. Still, they'd never know how well they'd work with Michael until they gave it a go.

The first little hiccup in their working relationship came fairly quickly, when it became apparent that Geoff should have been more specific which city he meant when he said “the” city. _“Los Santos?”_ Michael said in disbelief. “That's clear across the country!” Geoff frowned.

“So? What? Are you planning on spending the rest of eternity in _New Jersey?”_ Michael scowled at him and Geoff couldn’t help but give a small smile. The kid was kind of cute all riled up.

“No, but I sure as hell wasn't expecting to pick up and move for two basically strangers. What if shit doesn't work out? Being immortal won't stop me from being stranded in San Andreas.” A somewhat fair concern.

“Don't worry about it. Like I said, Jack and I are loaded. If shit doesn't pan out, we'll pay for you to get moved back in here. We're not just going to leave you stranded.” Geoff looked to Jack for any signs of disagreement, but there was none. Michael, however, still didn't look quite on board.

“What's the matter, kid? Got something keeping you here?” Michael frowned at him.

“Don't call me kid. I'm literally seventy-six years old. And… not something. Someone.” Geoff hadn’t been expecting that.

“Never would’ve taken you for a romantic, kid.” Geoff snickered at Michael’s clear anger at the moniker.

“Fuck you. And it’s not like that. He’s just a friend.”

“I mean,” Jack spoke up finally, “we could bring him with us, if he wanted to come, I guess?” Geoff nodded, and added,

“Just remember to feed and walk your mortal.” Michael rolled his eyes.

“Wow, mortals aren’t pets, you fucking jaded asshole. Besides, he’s not even mortal.” Geoff was taken aback by this.

“Why the hell didn’t you just say so? You know we’re looking for more immortals to join our crew. Or, is he not really the criminal type?”

“He is, he’s just… not really the joining a crew type.” Geoff had to wonder just how antisocial this mystery immortal was if _Michael_ was more of a team player than he was.

“Can’t we at least try talking to him?” Jack asked with a frown. Michael shrugged.

“Yeah, sure but I can’t really guarantee he’ll talk back. He can just be kind of… broody. Especially around new people.” Another shrug and Michael was pulling out his cellphone. He tapped out a message before pocketing it again. Broody, huh? Geoff wasn’t exactly fond of broody, but immortal was immortal and besides, maybe this guy would have a marketable skill. “He’ll be here in twenty. So…” Michael seemed to be searching for words. “Do you want something to, like, drink or whatever? I have water, soda, or, uh, hard liquor.” Geoff laughed. This kid was alright.

  


Geoff was nursing his second glass of whiskey when someone knocked on the door. Michael hopped up to answer it. While he was out of earshot, Jack leaned over to whisper to Geoff. “So what do you think? About Michael and this whole… situation.” Geoff considered the question for a moment.

“Well, I think Michael will make a good teammate if he can follow orders. Not sure about his friend. Guess we’ll have to see.” Jack nodded and straightened up again when Michael walked back into the kitchen. He had what looked like a teenaged boy in a purple hoodie in tow.

“Guys, this is Ray.” Geoff and Jack greeted him cheerfully. Ray nodded in return. Geoff was a little unsure of what to make of Ray. Despite his silence, he didn't seem shy or nervous. Geoff could respect a quiet man, but he wasn’t sure he could trust one. A slightly awkward silence fell over them. Michael broke it, probably eager for them all get along so he wouldn't have to choose between Ray and a job opportunity.

“So, you might better know Ray as the Brownman?” Michael said, his voice hopeful. Geoff raised his eyebrows. Besides him, Jack choked on his drink. Geoff thumped Jack on the back and noted a slight smile on Ray's formerly impassive face. So the kid wasn't one of those emotionless machines you so often saw in this business, then. That was good. Nothing worse than a guy who took himself too seriously.

“Yeah, we’ve heard of you. Heard you're one of the best snipers for hire out there.” Geoff was suddenly much more interested in Ray. What started out as an obstacle to Michael was beginning to look like a golden opportunity. Ray's smile widened.

“Well, I don't want to brag, but my killcount vs. deathcount ratio in Modern Warfare is, like, fifty to one.” Geoff snorted and was proud of himself for understanding what Ray was talking about. The constantly changing times were hard to keep up with, but both Geoff and Jack had spent many a sleepless night due to the modern wonder that were video games.

“Looks like Jack Thompson was right. Somebody alert the media.” Jack joked. Ray laughed.

“Pretty sure the media’s already been alerted. There was a documentary about me a few years back that spent like twenty minutes detailing how I was removed from reality and probably thought I was a Call of Duty protagonist or some bullshit like that.” They all got a good laugh at that.

“Yeah, documentaries are a riot. There's one that swears up and down that I kidnapped Jack and forced him to be my first mate during our pirating days.” Jack snorted.

“Well, it _was_ sort of your fault my crew ditched me and took my boat with them.”

“How is it my fault the British navy was a bunch of yellow-bellied ninnies?”

“Man, why don't I get a hilariously inaccurate documentary?” Michael grumbled. Geoff chuckled.

“Stick with me, and you'll get tons of them. That goes for you, too, Ray. We could use a guy like you.” Michael and Ray exchanged glances. 

“I've never joined a team before. Rarely work with anyone besides Michael. Contract work’s always suited me just fine. You guys aren't even established yet.” Geoff nodded.

“True, we're not. Not in this era anyway. But all you have to is look throughout history and you'll see us at the forefront of every relevant criminal enterprise. Dread pirates in the fourteen hundreds. Treasonous arms dealers in the American Revolution. Cutthroat outlaws in the Wild West. But in the twenties, we hit something of a problem. Sure, we owned a speakeasy, but we couldn't break into the mafia business. We didn't have a crew. Not one we could trust. Not one that would stick around once they found out what we are. But like this, with a crew of immortals, we'd be unstoppable. Contract work is no way to live. Bouncing from job to job, getting stiffed on the pay, no one to watch your back. Trust us, Ray, we're going places. We always have and we always will. We've already made a few reliable contacts, hit a few places. You work for us and you'll be able to afford a nice penthouse in Los Santos soon.” It was hard to tell if Ray was swayed by this, his expression still mostly blank.

“That was beautiful, man. Truly inspiring. I felt like I was watching the King’s Speech or something.” Ray spoke, sarcasm lacing his monotone. Geoff rolled his eyes and Jack snorted.

“Soooo, you convinced yet?” Ray shrugged, seemingly giving in. Apparently the kid wasn't that opposed to teamwork, after all.

“Sure, why not? What's the worst that could happen?” Geoff grinned wide.  


  


Ray Narvaez Junior. That was his full name. Ray never understood why he was named after a man that hadn’t stuck around to even see Ray’s birth. He hated every time someone said his full name. It was a reminder of what he missing out on. It was a link between him and the kind of man who would abandon his pregnant girlfriend. It was depressing, is what it was, but Ray supposed it didn’t matter. A dull ache deep in his chest was the only thing Ray felt anymore. It used to be that he wore apathy like armor. It protected him against living in poverty with a drug addict mother. It protected him against being bullied by his peers. It protected him against his missing father figure. It was much easier to face these things when he forced himself not to care about them. However, his apathy had become all consuming. He couldn’t care even when he wanted to. He spent his days smoking pot and playing video games in an effort to distract himself from the emotionless void his life had become, but he was teetering on the edge of an abyss.

  


He found some solace in a surprising place. A distant relative had visited their home one Christmas and gifted Ray a BB gun. At first, Ray scoffed at the idea of standing out in the cold, pegging little paper targets and probably shooting his eye out like the kid in A Christmas Story (and Ray hated that movie. He had the misfortune of seeing it in theaters. It wasn’t even a Christmas story. It was more like a Thanksgiving and the days leading up to Christmas story), but his mother convinced him (or rather insisted very strongly) that it would be good for him to get out of the house and do something other than sit in front of the television all day. Ray didn’t think he’d like doing something in real life when he could more easily accomplish it in video game format, but there was something surprisingly exhilarating about shooting and hitting a difficult target. For the first time in a long time, Ray felt a spark of real excitement. He eventually saved up all his money from his shitty part-time job, and bought a rather decent rifle with a scope, which he promptly painted pink for no other reason that he found it to be incredibly amusing.

  


As time wore on, though, even shooting lost some of its novelty. It got too easy to hit non moving targets and there was no way Ray was going to shoot any animals. The thing was, Ray caught onto things too quickly. New concepts and new skillsets. It all came to him far too easily, and society and his school failed to keep Ray mentally stimulated. The mind numbing boredom, combined with his pervasive apathy all contributed to Ray being up on the roof of his school, cool wind whipping his thick, black hair about his face. Trembling hands were pressed firmly against the stone shingles, in an effort to keep himself from slipping down the sloped roof, even though he had come up here for the sole purpose of falling. He wasn’t sure yet, if he could go through with it. What if he jumped but didn’t die? What if he just broke his back and was paralyzed for the rest of his life? Ray’s high school was a very old building. It had several floors, making it the only building in his small city high enough to be fatal if he jumped off its roof. Ray reminded himself that he had made sure there was no surviving the fall before he had even come up here.

Ray was just so tired of the endless nothingness he felt on a daily basis. And he hardly saw a bright future for himself. Despite understanding all of his subjects in school, he could never quite find the motivation to do his homework and was thus failing all his classes. Born into poverty and raised half assedly by a drug addict, he could only see himself falling into a cycle of dysfunction and misfortune. Despite only being seventeen, he could see no light at the end of his tunnel. Just a foot and a half away was the edge and the solution to his problems. He swallowed thickly. His mother wouldn’t miss him. She was always complaining about how much it cost to keep him. He had no friends. His father quite obviously didn’t care, probably would never even know the son he ditched was dead. He scooted forward and closed his eyes before pushing himself off. There was a brief feeling of floating, the wind rushing past him roared in his ears before a burst of pain that ended quite abruptly in nothingness.

  


Ray knew something was wrong when he woke up. That certainly had not been part of the plan. Neither had been being admitted to the hospital. How the hell had he survived? His memory was fuzzy and he had a terrible headache, but he had been fairly certain he had landed on his head on the cement ground below. Even if it had been possible to live through that, Ray would think he’d be in rather more pain than a headache, even a really bad one. Ray sighed. He supposed he wasn’t too disappointed to be alive still, but he wasn’t exactly thrilled, either. Just more of the same apathy then.

The doctor came into the room shortly after Ray had awoken. He explained what had happened, as far as they knew. A student had seen Ray fall to his apparent death. The paramedics were called and they pronounced Ray dead, his head basically liquified by the impact. Before the coroner could even arrive, Ray started breathing again. Apparently, the EMTs stated that the blood must have concealed how superficial Ray’s wounds actually were, because by the time Ray got to the hospital, he had barely any external injuries and only a slight concussion. No one could really explain how Ray had been so lucky. In fact, the media had gotten wind of the whole thing and now they were practically breaking down the hospital doors trying to get the full story, as well as an interview with Ray. The doctor seemed quite annoyed about that. Also, Ray’s mother had been in to see him, but had left after a short period since Ray was unconscious. The doctor told Ray they were keeping him for observation, since there was “basically no way you’re not more injured, it’s fucking impossible. Excuse my language.” Ray was annoyed with this verdict, but also equally confused as the doctor. He hoped he could get his mother to bring him his handheld game console.

  


Ray was indeed able to procure his Handy Game, and he was playing with it the next day when a nurse came into his room. “There’s someone here to see you, Mr. Narvaez, but he’s not listed as a family member. He says he’s a cousin of yours. Michael?” Ray didn’t look up from his game.

“Yeah, send him in or whatever.” Ray said distractedly. He had a lot of cousins, and though he didn’t recognize the name Michael immediately, that wasn’t exactly unusual. Well, whoever it was might give him get well candy or something. This hospital was abysmally devoid of unhealthy food. Ray only looked up from his game when the man stepped into his room. Ray tensed. There was no way this freckled, red-headed man was his cousin. There was no way he was even Puerto Rican. “Who the hell are you?” Ray asked gruffly.

“Why, I’m your cousin. Don’t you recognize me?” The man gave Ray a wolfish grin, all teeth. Ray felt unease in the pit of his stomach. What did this guy want from him?

“Bullshit. Who are you and why are you here?” The man laughed and snatched one of the chairs in the room, sitting in it backwards with a casual air.

“Relax, man. My name’s Michael. I came here because I think I have some answers to your questions, and I was hoping you might have some answers to mine.” Ray was completely dumbfounded by this response, but he didn’t show it.

“Get to the point, Mysterio.” Michael snorted, potentially due to Ray’s nerdy reference.

“You’re immortal, I’m immortal, let’s talk.” Ray stared at Michael, now convinced the man was insane.

“Riiiiiiight.” Ray reached for the button to call the nurse but in a surprisingly quick motion, Michael caught his wrist. Ray tried to pull away, but Michael held fast. “Let go.”

“You don’t want to do that, Ray. You’re going to want to listen to me. It’s important for the both of us.”

Ray tugged harder at his wrist and didn’t ask how Michael knew his name. Ray wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “You’re insane. I’m not fucking immortal. Nobody is.” Despite his words, there was a traitorous voice in the back of his mind. What if. What if, because Ray fucking swore he hit the ground head first. He fucking swore that building was high enough to kill him. And he damn well knew it was unlikely as hell that he escaped with only a concussion. Maybe not just unlikely but impossible. Just like it was impossible to be immortal? Ray steadfastly pushed those thoughts away, however, because _yes_ it _was_ impossible and Ray wasn’t the fanciful type. He didn’t believe in impossible shit. Then Michael tossed a couple papers on top of Ray’s lap, releasing his wrist, and Ray’s entire definition of impossible blew completely apart.

Ray’s hands trembled as he held the newspaper clipping Michael had given him. Arsonist caught in his own explosion, miraculously survived third and fourth degree burns, as well as being buried in a shit ton of rubble. Ray wanted to vomit looking at the picture Michael had provided. It was of a body burned to a crisp, toe tag stark white against what was left of the blackened flesh. Besides that, there was a “Incident Report” from a New Jersey prison: “...inmate Robert Valentino reportedly aggressively propositioned inmate Michael Jones for sex. An argument broke out and in the ensuing altercation, Valentino slashed Jones’s throat. Jones seemingly bled out until he returned to consciousness a few minutes later and struck Valentino twice. Valentino then ran from the scene…” There was another photograph accompanying this, but Ray couldn’t bring himself to look at it. The thing about all of this, though, wasn’t just the stories of unlikely survival, but the dates involved. These were from the 1950’s. There was a picture of Michael’s mugshot both in the newspaper article and the police report, and, he looked exactly as he did now, in 1986, sitting next to Ray, grinning from ear to ear like he was pleased by how unsettled Ray was. “What… what the fuck?” Ray said weakly. “This can’t…”

“Dude, you didn’t survive that fall. You fucking died and you know it. The thing is, we don’t stay dead, you and I. Also, I guess we stop aging after our first deaths, so that’s a thing. Ha, you’re going to be stuck at as a scrawny seventeen year old forever.” Ray scowled, annoyed by this information.

“Shut up, man, I’m trying to process the whole, everything you knew is a lie and you’re not going to ever die, thing.” Michael snorted and pointed at his Handy Game.

“Hey, California Games. That’s a fun game.” Ray blinked in surprise and looked down at his handheld console, before offering Michael a small smile.

“Yeah. You play?” Ray didn’t know many people with a handheld. Michael nodded and pulled his own Handy Game from his pocket.

  


“Come on, man, it’ll be fun.” Michael said, almost pleadingly. Ray rolled his eyes.

“Maybe for you, Mr. Arsonist, but some of us are law-abiding citizens.”

“You smoke _weed,_ Ray.” Ray flapped his hand dismissively.

“That’s barely even a crime. It’s like jaywalking. Everyone does it.” It was Michael’s turn to roll his eyes, though Ray could barely see it since Michael was flat on his back on Ray’s bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“Sure. Well, anyway, you could get a ton of fucking weed with the money you’d get pulling this job with me.” Ray made a face, though a part of him was considering Michael’s totally ridiculous suggestion that they rob a fucking convenience store together. The thing was, smoking pot was an expensive habit, and his shitastic job fired him after the news of his almost suicide hit the local news stations. Michael turned to look at his rifle, which Ray had gotten out to show him, thus prompting this whole situation. “We could really use someone with your skills in my business.” Ray, who was normally pretty impassive, gave Michael a horrified look.

“I’m not going to _shoot_ someone, Michael. What the fuck?” Michael just shrugged, which gave Ray a terrible suspicion. “Wait, have you shot someone before?”

“Yeah, lots of times.” When Ray’s facial expression became even more horrified, Michael added. “Not like innocent fucking women and children or whatever. I’m shooting other criminals. People who’ll shoot me if I don’t shoot them.”

“So not cops?” Michael looked a little guilty at that.

“Most cops are basically criminals, anyway.” Ray rubbed his hands over his face.

“Jesus, Michael.”

“Hey, listen. It’s different for us. What the hell are we supposed to do? Work some stupid job for the rest of eternity? Hopping from city to city, faking your own death every couple decades to keep people from getting suspicious when you don’t age? That’s both inconvenient and boring as shit. Weren’t you complaining about being bored as shit? That’s why you jumped, right? Well, nothing’s more exciting than doing illegal ass shit. And what’s the law going to do? Kill us? Ha. Lock us up? They tried that with me already and I got out. It’s pretty simple to get out when they think you’re dead.” Ray felt his pulse pick up a little. Money was one thing. It was great and all, but Ray would never kill for it. A release from his unending boredom, though, that he might kill for. Besides, Michael was right. He was going to live forever. Trying to fit into society just wouldn’t work after a certain point. Despite this, Ray still didn’t like the idea of being a _murderer_. Perhaps sensing the internal battle Ray was having, Michael spoke again. “You won’t have to kill anyone robbing this convenience store. It’s a real simple job. Just get in, wave your gun around, get the money and get out. Nice and easy. Nobody dies. Nobody gets hurt. I’ll guide you through the whole thing.”

Michael hadn’t been lying. The heist went off without a hitch. Later, Michael would tell Ray how rare that was. Murphy’s Law was almost always in effect during robberies and other criminal matters. Robbing the convenience store turned out to be just the taste of excitement Ray needed to become more entangled with the criminal world. He went on more robberies, dealt drugs, and even played the part of a bodyguard to other, more powerful criminals. However, he remained murder-free. That is, until he met Kevin.

Ray’s mother always had a constant stream of no good boyfriends. Ray was surprised he didn't have any half siblings with deadbeat fathers. They usually were just the same kind of man Ray supposed his father was. Lazy scumbags that contributed nothing to society. They usually didn’t really bother with Ray and Ray didn’t bother with them. His mother was constantly arguing with her boyfriend of the week, but usually, and herein lied the problem with Kevin, usually they never laid a hand on either Ray or his mother. Not so with Kevin. And it was one thing to hit Ray, which Kevin did frequently, but it was quite another to hit his mom. Ray and his mother may not have the best relationship, but he wasn’t going to just let some asshole smack her around. And Michael, it seemed, was very reluctant to let some asshole smack Ray around.

“It’s no big deal,” Ray said, for what seemed like the millionth time, as Michael carefully cleaned a cut on Ray’s brow. Michael scowled.

“Bullshit. I don’t just stand around and let my friends get hurt by random douchebags. We gotta take this guy out.” Ray frowned.

“Take him out how, exactly? You mean like… kill him?”

“Fuck yeah I mean kill him!” Michael exclaimed passionately, dabbing at Ray’s wound just a little too hard. Ray winced at the stinging pain.

“I’m not gonna kill anyone, Michael.” Michael frowned.

“Come on, Ray. Look at what the guy is doing to you. To your mom. No one’s gonna miss a guy like that.” Ray frowned right back.

“I’ll deal with it, Michael. No one needs to kill anyone.” Michael huffed, but let the subject drop.

Ray almost immediately regretted his decision. That night, his mother got into yet another screaming match with Kevin. Ray stepped in before it could get violent. “Just calm down. Nobody has to get hurt,” Ray said, trying to defuse the situation. Kevin punched him in the nose. Ray reeled back, holding his nose, which was now gushing blood. “F-fuck,” he spluttered. He was so fucking _tired_ of this asshole. He reeled back and drove his fist into Kevin’s stomach. That, perhaps, was not the smartest move. Kevin retaliated by kicking him in his stomach. Ray fell the ground, wheezing. Kevin was on him before he could even think about getting up. Kevin kicked him repeatedly before dropping down to punch him in the face a few more times for good measure. Dazed and probably suffering from a broken nose at the very least, Ray was only vaguely aware of his mother hauling Kevin off him before Kevin turned his violence on her. That was what made Ray’s blood boil. Hearing his mother’s repeated screams and cries was what made him realize that _this man had to die_.

Ray covered for Kevin, telling the authorities he fell down the stairs, as cliche as that was. He only did so because now he wanted to be the one to take the bastard out. He told Michael as much as Michael sat at Ray’s bedside, after giving Ray a long “I told you so” speech. “Don’t worry, man,” Michael assured him, “I got your back.”

The shiver that ran through Ray had nothing to do with the wind as he stared down at Kevin’s workplace. Ray was on top of the roof of the opposite building, Michael kneeling besides him. Ray set his rifle up while Michael watched. “You know,” Michael started, after a moment, “the whole pink gun thing is funny and all but it sure is worryingly eye catching.” Ray shrugged.

“It’ll be fine. He won’t have time to notice.” Michael grinned.

“That’s the spirit.” Ray put his eye against the scope. The plan was to snipe Kevin as he was leaving work, and then hightail it out of there before the police arrived. Ray had practiced taking apart and putting the gun together at top speed. There was a tense few moments as Ray waited for Kevin to come through the double doors of the building. The wind howled around them but Ray hardly noticed as he peered through his scope, finger twitching slightly on the trigger. Then a crowd of people came bustling out, Kevin among them. Ray tensed. He hadn't thought this through properly. He didn't prepare for Kevin being in a crowd.

“Shit,” Ray hissed, jumping slightly when he suddenly felt Michael's warm hand on his shoulder.

“You can still make the shot,” Michael breathed in his ear. Ray turned to look at him, aghast.

“Are you insane? I'll hit someone else!” Ray hissed back. Michael shushed him even though Ray was pretty sure they were too far away up on the roof for anyone to hear them.

“If anyone can make the shot, it's you, Ray. You can do it, just focus.” Ray swallowed thickly. During their brief conversation, Kevin and the other people had made it a little further down the street. Ray put his eye back to the scope and readjusted his aim. He just needed a clear shot, he just needed Kevin to pull away from the group just a bit. Enough to be sure the bullet wouldn't go through Kevin and keep going to hit someone else. He waited, mouth feeling dry, hyper aware of Michael sitting tense besides him. As the group walked, they clustered a little too close, causing Kevin to have to pause to avoid running into someone. In that moment, the crowd pulled slightly ahead of Kevin, giving Ray the split second opening he needed. He pulled the trigger before he had a chance to second guess himself. He swore his own hammering heart was louder than the shot itself. It was over very quickly. Kevin crumpled to the ground. A few beats later and the crowd scattered, screaming. Ray dismantled his setup and put his gun in his case in record time. He and Michael booked it out of there. Just like that, Ray was a killer and it was like breaking a seal, because after that, he started taking hits.

  


Ray closed his eyes and reclined his chair. His noise cancelling headphones made his fellow passengers’ conversations sound far away. The cold, canned air inside the plane was a welcome reprieve from the sweltering, polluted New Jersey summer air. They had only just finished taking off and Ray was already dozing off when he felt Michael’s hand on his upper leg. Startled by the unexpectedly intimate touch, Ray's eyes snapped open, and he turned to look at Michael (who was grinning in a highly mischievous way which only served to unsettle Ray even more), pulling his headphones down to hang around his neck. “What the hell are you doing?” Michael's grin somehow managed to become even more shit-eating.

“Wanna join the mile high club with me, Ray?” Michael was barely managing to contain his mirth. Ray fought not to flush and he shoved at Michael.

“Fuck off, dude, you're so stupid.” Michael broke out in snickers and Ray himself couldn't help letting out a chuckle.

“Can you believe we’re actually doing this?” Michael was almost bouncing in his seat with excitement. Ray glanced a few seats down where Jack and Geoff were sitting, heads bowed together, seemingly deep in a private conversation. This all felt very surreal.

“Not really. It’s pretty crazy, though I guess it's not the craziest thing we've ever done.” Michael snorted.

“Yeah, not sure anything can compare to blowing up a whole train while you were standing on top of it. That was pretty much a crowning moment of awesome.” Ray sighed heavily at the memory.

“As I've said countless times, Michael, I wasn't supposed to still be _on_ the train when you detonated the bombs. It was way less awesome from my point of view.” Michael grinned a bit sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders.

“You survived, didn't you?” Ray rolled his eyes.

“Technically, no.” Michael just stuck his tongue out at him in response.

  


At some point, Michael fell asleep, his head pressed firmly against Ray’s shoulder. Ray himself drifting in that zone between sleeping and waking. He was startled out of this state when someone tapped his shoulder. He looked around, his eyes meeting Geoff’s sleepy ones. He pulled his headphones down. “We’ll be there soon. Better wake him up,” Geoff nodded towards Michael and a small smile tugged at his lips when Michael made soft, snuffling noises in his sleep. “You ever been out of New Jersey?”

“Yeah. I was born in and grew up in New York City.” Geoff nodded.

“Los Santos is bigger, and the streets aren’t in a nice, neat grid. It'll probably take some getting used to, but you'll be getting a tour of all the convenience stores and banks.” Ray snorted, amused. Geoff grinned and returned to his seat, leaving Ray to shake Michael awake. Michael grunted and jerked awake.

“Wha-? What's happening?” Michael rubbed his eyes, looking around. “Are we crashing or something?” Ray chuckled.

“Yeah, we're pretty much fucked, dude.” Michael rolled his eyes.

“Well, goodbye cruel world for the fiftieth fucking time I guess.” Ray made an amused noise.

“In all seriousness, though. Geoff says we’ll be descending soon. Put your seat in its full upright position and all that.” Michael grumbled and moved his seat back up. He peered out the window.

“Those are a shitload of lights down there. That's way bigger than Atlantic City.”

“You'll be a small fish in a big pond,” Ray teased, causing Michael to flip him off, tongue stuck out.

“I’ll be an _explode-y_ fish in a big pond. The big pond won't know what hit it.” Ray grinned.

“That's the spirit.”

  


After stumbling through a too bright airport on travel-stiff legs, following close behind Geoff and Jack, Ray and Michael got their first up close look at the city. It was night now, and despite it being summer in a desert state, the air was cool. Skyscrapers towered above them as traffic-locked cars moved sluggishly through the streets. A siren wailed in the distance. It did remind Ray a lot of New York, but there was a different feel to it. Something about it felt grittier and more chaotic. Ray couldn't explain it, but he half felt like he just stepped into a warzone. Geoff clapped his hands on Michael and Ray's shoulders. “Welcome to our new kingdom, boys.”

  


Geoff and Jack had put them up in a hotel for the time being. Ray and Michael had shared hotel rooms before, while out on jobs, but usually Michael was less excitable. Eventually Ray had to lob the tv remote at Michael's head to get him to shut up and go to sleep. Ray understood, though. His whole body was thrumming with the possibilities of tomorrow. They were going to plan their first heist with Jack and Geoff, hopefully their new long-term partners. This could be what he and Michael had been searching for. An end to their never-ending boredom. It took a while for him to manage to get to sleep.

  


It was a simple, easy heist. Just meant to help feel each other out, see how they worked together. They were going to hit a little corner store with a “dickhead owner who didn't know how to keep his trap shut about certain people's body art choices.” Geoff’s words. Jack would be driving the getaway car, Geoff and Michael were going to be the ones going in, and Ray would be stationed outside to shoot any police that might show up before they made their escape. It made Ray a little nervous. He was used to having one target and being far away when he shot them. He was never in the middle of the fray. Jack reassured him, however, that it was unlikely that police would be on the scene before they left. They would be in and out too quick.

  


The amount of sheer fucking wrong Jack ended up being was astounding. It was lucky Ray was wearing body armor because he would have been dead in a god damn instant and probably would have to escape from the morgue. The cashier working the register had hit the panic button as soon as Michael and Geoff burst in in ski masks. Maybe ski masks were too telling. Should've gone with masquerade masks, in Ray's opinion. Either way, he was pinned down, crouching behind a dumpster, a hail of bullets making it difficult to get a shot off. Geoff and Michael were shouting over the earbud comms, somehow managing to be louder in Ray's ear than the gunshots. “Fuck! _Fuck!_ How did the police get here so god damned fast?” Michael was saying.

“Why are there so fucking _many_ of them? It's just a fucking convenience store!” Geoff cried. Ray couldn't see them from where he was positioned, but he knew they were somewhere nearby, also involved in the shootout.

“Would you guys get to the fucking car?!” Jack added his shouting to the fray.

“We’re trying!” Geoff answered “Michael, throw a grenade!”

“Wait! Where's Ray?” Ray appreciated Michael's unwillingness to throw an explosive device when it might catch Ray in the blast.

“I'm clear. Behind a dumpster. Throw it!” A few moments later and there was a tremendous bang that left his ears ringing. Suddenly someone was grabbing his arm and tugging. He whipped around and pointed his gun at the person, but it was just Michael. He shouted something, but Ray still couldn't hear. He got the message, though. It was time to go. He stumbled to his feet, bolting after Michael to the car while the remaining police were still collecting themselves after the grenade. Ray and Michael piled into the car.

“Where the fuck is Geoff?!” Jack snapped, looking around frantically.

“Fuck, I thought he was right behind me!” Michael said. He was breathing heavily. 

“I'm surrounded, shit.” Geoff’s voice crackled over the comm. “Just go. I’ll catch up. I'll just die or something to avoid jail.” Jack’s mouth twisted into a frown.

“Geoff…” he started.

“Go!” Jack didn't wait to be told again. He floored it and after a moment, two police cars peeled after them, but Jack quickly lost them with some expert driving that left Ray’s stomach about five miles back.

  


Things hadn't meant to go this fucking badly. Some first impression they must have made on Ray and Michael. Now wasn't the time for worrying about first impressions, though. Now was the time for Geoff to figure out how to get out of this situation, because breaking out of jail was a huge pain in the ass. He was currently surrounded by police, all of their guns trained on him. He was very slowly putting his gun to the ground, stalling for time, when the sound of a motorcycle engine reached his ears. At first he paid it no mind, nor did the police, but it got very hard to ignore when the motorcycle in question burst into the circle of police, managing to run over two of them. Geoff watched stunned, as the driver, wearing a black skull mask and clad in leather, mowed down the rest of the police with a single sweep of a machine gun. Geoff was left standing, dumbfounded, in a ring of corpses. The man stared impassively back at him, his terrible skull mask revealing no expressions. Then, without so much as a word spoken between them, the man revved his motorcycle and sped off. Geoff swallowed thickly. He wasn't oblivious. There wasn't a single person in the country who wouldn't recognize that mask. _The Vagabond._ The most notorious hitman in the entire western hemisphere. Even in the criminal world, he was spoken of in hushed whispers. He was like a terrifying urban legend. ...And he just saved Geoff’s ass. The thing was, though, there was something horrifyingly familiar about him.


	4. Pollux and Castor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter was too long so i cut it in half

“C’mon, B! They’ll catch up to us if you don't hurry!” There was a note of panic edging into Gavin’s voice as he tugged Dan down an alley. His normally very in-shape friend was stumbling behind behind him, gasping for breath. Usually, Dan could outrun Gavin, but Gavin was willing to cut Dan some slack here, considering Dan had just died.

  


Gavin met Dan in the foster care system. Gavin had been abandoned on the steps of a hospital as an infant. Dan’s parents had both died in a car crash just a year before Gavin and Dan met. Gavin was nine, Dan was eleven. Despite being two years older than Gavin, Dan followed the other boy like a baby duckling, drawn in by his antics and the occasional, dazzling show of intellect that was usually hidden from the rest of the world underneath layers of stupid questions and strange, reactionary noises.

Gavin had been bullied before he met Dan. Gavin’s need for attention had him constantly pestering others and giving over the top reactions to everything. This led to Gavin enduring verbal taunts at best and at worst, he'd end up in the school’s nurse’s office with a broken nose or a black eye. Once, Dan came along, the bullying stopped pretty quick. He was a large, athletic boy and if any potential bully wasn't discouraged by his looming presence over Gavin’s shoulder, they were pretty quickly discouraged by a fist to their teeth. With Dan playing bodyguard, Gavin’s confidence and courage increased tenfold. Without the threat of consequences from his peers, Gavin’s morals began to slip a little. He developed sticky fingers, and found a talent for lying. He would practice how to spin tales and pretend to be someone he wasn't, how to twist people to his will by just using his words. Dan was by his side for every theft, every pretty, false word. Gavin was never quite sure if that was because Dan’s morals were just as grey as his own, or if it was because Dan was just unwaveringly loyal. Gavin never asked and Dan never offered up an answer.

As they grew older, it became increasingly clear that Gavin would never become a “productive member of society” as his teachers would put it. Gavin didn't care much. As far as he was concerned, there wasn't a point to give to a society that never gave to him. To his peers and guardians, he was nothing more than a manipulative thief. To the people that really mattered: himself and Dan, he was a master of the silver-tongue, handing out some form of twisted justice. Taking from people who had wronged them, looking out for himself and Dan when no one else would. In return, Dan looked out for Gavin. Until, that is, the war.

  


Gavin clung to Dan’s arm, feeling weak and small for the first time since he had meant Dan. “But _why?”_ He just didn't understand why Dan would _do_ this to him. Just leave him like this to, what, go get blown up halfway across the world? Dan carefully extracted his arm from Gavin's grip and settled his hand in Gavin’s hair. It was large and warm, but not nearly as reassuring as it used to be.

“It's just something I have to do, B.” Gavin glared. That was such a copout and Dan knew it. If Dan was going to _abandon_ him, the least he could do was properly explain himself.

“Tell me _why.”_ Gavin's tone held none of the playfulness it usually contained. He couldn't muster up his usual barely restrained glee towards life now. Not when his B, his Dan, was leaving him. Dan sighed and sat down on his bed, next to his suitcase.

“Gav… it's just, I don't really know who I am, apart from you, you know?” Gavin’s heart dropped.

“Don't be stupid, Dan. I know who you are. You're my lovely, little Dan. You're strong, and kind, and protective, and wonderful. Who else would you be?” Who else would Dan _want_ to be? Gavin came to stand in front of Dan and took the other’s hands in his own. Dan squeezed Gavin's hands, leaning forward to lay his forehead against Gavin’s shoulder.

“You're sweet, B. But even now you're telling me who I am and I… I just don't know, Gav. I don't know who I am when you're not with me. I just need this chance to figure myself out. Besides, when I get back, I'll be able to kick the ass of anyone who messes with you a hundred times better.” Gavin snorted but his insides were still squirming uncomfortably.

“Dan, the army isn't where people go to find themselves. The army brainwashes people and tells them they're just expendable murder puppets.” It was Dan’s turn to snort.

“That's not true, B. Look, it's already too late to back out. My flight is tonight and if I don't show up, I'll be committing a crime more serious than anything we’ve ever done before.” Dan sighed. “Please try to understand, Gavin.”

 _“Four years,_ B,” Gavin said brokenly.

“I'll write, Gav. And I'll get leave, too. I can visit you. It's not like we won't see or hear from each other the whole time.”

“What if you _die?”_ Gavin was getting increasingly desperate. Dan let go of Gavin’s hands and wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him tight.

“I won't die, B. Don't worry about that. C’mon, I won a fight against Tommy Johnson, remember?” Gavin smiled against Dan, though he could feel tears pricking at his eyes. The memory of Dan kicking the shit of the biggest boy in their year would always be a sweet one. Especially since Dan did it for Gavin. Dan did everything for Gavin. Now it was time for Dan to do something for himself, and it was time for Gavin to let him.

“I'm gonna miss you so much, Dan. I don't know what I'm going to do without you.”

“You're smart, Gav. Way smarter than me. You'll be just fine. You could talk the stars into falling from the sky.”

When Dan left that night, Gavin was a little more reassured, and while they were both teary eyed, Gavin was confident Dan would find what he was looking for and come back to Gavin, perhaps changed but still his Dan in essence.

  


In Dan’s absence, Gavin threw himself wholeheartedly into his burgeoning criminal career. He was no petty thief. He worked his way into people's favor, telling them everything they wanted to hear, until they willingly let him get closer to whatever he was trying to steal. Then he'd be long gone with it before anyone could work out that the pretty, charming, new boy was missing. And maybe Gavin was changing just as much as Dan, because the next time he saw Dan, Dan did a doubletake, seemingly thrown by Gavin’s flashy gold jewelry, perfectly coiffed hair, and fashionable clothes. “You dyed your hair, B. You look well strange as a blonde.” Dan reached out but seemed hesitant to touch him, as if he was afraid he was going to mess up the picture perfect image that was Gavin these days. But Gavin just laughed and pulled Dan into a crushing hug.

“You look well strange, full stop, you knob.” Gavin never wanted Dan to see him as someone untouchable. To other people, yes, but never to Dan. All the makeup he wore, the gold sunglasses, and perfectly fitting button ups and jeans, that was all for other people. To lure them in and make them think he wasn't a threat. It was just a mask, a costume. It wasn't meant for Dan. Dan seemed to learn to look past it all fairly quickly.

Four years was a long time for the both of them, but eventually Dan served his time in the military. “So, B, did you find what you were looking for?” Gavin asked Dan the night he had come home. Dan was silent for a bit, legs dangling off the fire escape of their apartment.

“I think so…” Gavin waited for him to elaborate. Dan took a few sips of the beer he was holding. “This world is pretty unfair, B. We know that. I just didn't understand the extent.” Gavin wasn't sure where Dan was going with this, so he just stayed silent. “Before, I was just following you around a bit like a lost puppy, right? I didn't even really know if I agreed with everything you were doing. I just didn't question it. Now though, I think I really couldn’t care less what happens to society. It's awful, B. Really bad. All I want to do is keep my loved ones safe.” Dan’s voice was getting a bit croaky. Gavin drew closer to him, rubbing him on the back. “I lost friends, Gav. Saw them die in horrible ways. People lost their lives and why? Cus some loon in America decided to stick his dumb nose where it didn't belong.” Dan sniffed. “I should be dead, B, did you know?” Gavin swallowed thickly, feeling upset.

“Don't say that, Dan. You shouldn't be anything but alive,” Gavin said sternly. Dan smiled faintly.

“I mean it, Gav. There was a lot of quote unquote close calls. I was in a truck that was more or less obliterated by IEDs.”

“You were luck--”

“No,” Dan cut him off. “I wasn’t.” Dan sounded a agitated now. Gavin stared at Dan, mystified. “I _wasn’t,”_ Dan repeated. “There's something wrong with me, B.” Gavin was feeling fairly alarmed now.

“Dan. What are you on about?” Gavin’s mouth twisted into a frown. “Are you okay?” Clearly not, but Gavin was beginning to worry Dan’s brains had been addled during the warfare. Suddenly, strong arms were wrapping around Gavin, pulling him into Dan’s warm, solid chest and some of Gavin’s worry ebbed away. It was hard not to feel safe and reassured like this.

“I’ll be okay, now that I don't have to leave you again, B.” Gavin relaxed against Dan.

“What do you want to do, Dan?” Gavin didn't just mean in that moment, but in general. Now that Dan was finished with his service, he could do anything. Go to school and be anything. Gavin didn't realize until now, but he might lose Dan again, maybe for good as their lives diverged into two different paths, that of a criminal and a law abiding “productive member of society.” Dan’s arms tightened around Gavin.

“I want to fuck shit up, B,” Dan said with a chuckle, “with you by my side.”

  


It turned out fucking shit up was more dangerous than either of them had foreseen. Things were going well. Gavin talked his and Dan’s way into higher society circles. There was no shortage of things to steal at fancy parties. Gavin would pose as the fashionable art critic or the charming heir to a fortune or whatever the situation called for. Dan would almost always play Gavin’s bodyguard. They were making a killing, and then… then they slipped up. Robbed the wrong guy and got caught out doing it. How were they supposed to know mobs still existed? What was this? America in the twenties? They were forced to run, and keep running. It seemed everywhere they turned, their enemies were there, waiting. And then Dan had to go and die on him.

They were cornered, quite literally, in some dirty alley, three men bearing down on them. Dan's military training helped them evade the mob for a good year but they always caught up and now there was nowhere to run. Dan stepped in front of Gavin and raised his gun. Gavin clung to his jacket shaking. The three men raised their guns as well. A shot rang out, making Gavin flinch. He was vaguely aware of warm liquid splattering his face, but he was much more focused on Dan slumping forward, like a puppet with its strings cut. Gavin let out a devastated wail. “B! No! Please, no!” Gavin dropped to his knees. He rolled Dan onto his back. It was clear he was dead. Vacant, wide open eyes and a hole in his head. Gavin clutched the front of Dan’s shirt, sobs wracking his body as he pressed his face into Dan’s too still chest. His entire world was crashing in around him. When he heard a metallic click, he remembered the men were still there, still pointing guns at him. “Oh, just shoot me,” Gavin snapped through his sniffles. What was the point of going on? Dan’s body shuddered beneath him and he assumed one of the men had stepped closer and bumped into the corpse. Another shot had Gavin’s ears ringing but he couldn't help but notice a distinct lack of being dead. Gavin could hear the men cursing and yelling. Did those idiots seriously miss a still target at point blank range? Gavin would mock them if he wasn't reeling from the loss of his best friend. Someone was shaking his shoulder, presumably one of the goons. Gavin tried to shrug them off.

“B, get up. C’mon.” A shock ran through Gavin as Dan’s voice reached his ears. No. What? Had Gavin lost it? Started hallucinating? Dan’s “corpse” was sitting up now and pushing Gavin off him in the process. Gavin looked up in disbelief at Dan’s bloodied, but very alive and now bullet hole-free face. What. The. Fuck? “B, run!” Gavin startled into action, because he could see the now _two_ men (that other shot must have been Dan taking out the third man) were just as shocked as Gavin, but were quickly getting over it. Gavin scrambled to his feet, Dan stumbling upright next to him. Gavin grabbed Dan’s hand, because like hell was he leaving Dan behind now, and booked it. A bullet whizzed past his ear and blew a chunk of brick off a nearby building.

So now they were running, Gavin’s mind was reeling, and Dan was falling behind. “C’mon, B! They’ll catch up to us if you don't hurry!” Gavin urged Dan even as he pulled Dan along.

“Gav, we have to hide!” Dan panted. Gavin realized Dan was right. The two men would eventually catch up at this rate. Without thinking much, Gavin tugged Dan into the nearest building. Gavin winced at the sudden bright light. It took a moment for him to realize they were in a Waitrose. “Where do we go, B?” Dan sounded a bit desperate and Gavin’s own heart was thudding painfully in his chest. He looked around wildly before spotting the black rubber double doors that would lead to the storeroom.

“In here.” Gavin led Dan through the doors and dropped his hand to crawl behind some crates. “C’mon.” Dan looked skeptical, but he managed to squeeze his bulk into the tight space. For a moment, they just crouched, breathing heavily. Finally, Gavin broke the tense silence. “Bloody hell, B. What the fuck _was_ that back there? You just… came back to life! Like a bloody X-Men or something!” Dan turned to pout at Gavin.

“Well, you don't have to sound so minged off about it.”

“I'm not minged off about it! I'm well pleased you're alive, but still. What the fuck?” Dan shifted uncomfortably.

“You remember a few years ago, the night I came back from the military?” Gavin frowned, unsure of where this was going.

“I told you I shouldn't be alive. I told you there was something wrong with me.” Gavin felt very cold all of the sudden. He had thought, at the time, Dan was just suffering from a case of survivor’s guilt. He would have never guessed in a million years that Dan meant he had come back from the dead.

“This happened to you before. In the army.” This was too much. Gavin felt like he was going to pass out, but Dan just nodded.

“A couple of times.”

“A _couple_ of times? Jesus, B.” Dan reached out and rubbed Gavin’s back.

“I know it's a lot to take in, Gav. I would've told you sooner, but you wouldn't have believed me. And I didn't exactly want to go shooting my head off in front of you just to prove it, either.” Dan chuckled but Gavin wasn't laughing. He was breathing too hard. Dan noticed and frowned. “C’mon B, you're okay. It's okay.” It _wasn't_ okay, though. Gavin broke down in little, wheezing sobs.

“I thought you were _dead,_ Dan. Well and proper dead and not coming back. I was so _devastated.”_ Gavin was aware he was making a lot of noise, but he couldn't stop. This was too much. His coping skills had given out right around the time Dan was shot in the head, and Dan shattering his view of reality wasn't helping, as happy as he was that Dan was still alive. The space behind the crates was cramped, especially for someone as stocky as Dan, so he couldn't quite manage to hug Gavin. Instead, he began threading his fingers through Gavin's hair, fingernails scratching gently over his scalp.

“Ssshhhh. Deep breaths, okay, B? Deep breaths.” Gavin did his best to focus on Dan’s hand in his hair, trying to slow his breathing.

“Bloody hell,” Gavin choked out. Dan hushed him again and scratched at a particularly sensitive spot at the base of his skull. Gavin shivered and slowly began to calm down. “I’m good now,” Gavin said, quietly, after a while. “I'm good.” Dan retrieved his hand and offered Gavin a goofy grin.

“That's good, B. Thought you were about to die of shock. One of us dying is quite enough, I should think.” Gavin managed a small smile at that, before freezing. Someone had entered the storeroom. They could hear the other person or persons shuffling about. Gavin pressed a finger to his lips before slowly peeking around the crate. His shoulders slumped in relief. It was just a store employee. Gavin withdrew back behind the crate and whispered the news to Dan. They heard the employee leave. “We probably lost them by now.” Gavin nodded and extracted himself from behind the crate. He helped Dan out and they made their way past the rubber doors back out into the bright store.

“What are we gonna do, B? We can't keep running forever.” Dan frowned in thought.

“We leave the country. Go to America, maybe. They'll have a harder job finding us there. They might not even bother chasing us that far. It's easy while we’re still on their turf, but once we’re off it, we’d probably be low priority. We’re just thieves.” Gavin nodded but the idea of leaving the only home he'd ever known was already causing anxiety to creep into him. Dan seemed to sense that and clapped Gavin on the back. “It’s alright, B. With our line of ‘work,’ we can build a life anywhere. As long as we’re together, right?” Dan’s words reassured Gavin.

“Right.”

  


They packed their things at top speed, quite well-practiced now from being on the move constantly for the past year. They rented a decent looking apartment in the city of Los Santos. Such a huge city would be a good place to disappear. They shipped most of their things and took the long flight to San Andreas, America.


	5. Aphrodite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second part of previous chapter

America was a bit of a culture shock. The cars were huge and loud, the public transportation was shit, and it was sweltering hot in the summer with mild winters. Still, they carved out a little niche for themselves. As it turned out, there was a large criminal presence in their new city. They were able to reach out a little, make some contacts. People who could help them find new things to steal or help them plan hits all for a small cut of the proceeds. They still mostly worked alone, but they did work fairly regularly with Joel Heyman. He seemed to have eyes on every piece of gold in the city and was always quick to compliment Gavin on his gold makeup and jewelry. Dan hated him, but Gavin didn't see why. He thought Joel was quite lovely.

  


It during a job with Joel that Gavin met Geoff Ramsey. They were in a bar, waiting for their mark to arrive. It was an armoured car transporting, among other things, a few bricks of gold. The car was supposed to stop at a cash loan place next to the bar. Gavin would distract the drivers while Dan broke into the truck and retrieved the gold. Joel, who had tracked the cars route, was waiting for them back at his office. For now, they were playing the waiting game. Gavin struck up a conversation with an attractive, heavily-tattooed man. He learned the other man’s name was Geoff. Gavin was quick to start flirting with him, laying on his charms thick. It hit him that it had been a long damn time since he had gotten laid. Dan had grown increasingly annoyed during Gavin's conversation with Geoff. Gavin understood he was focused on the job, but what was the point of all these riches if they never had any fun? Gavin vowed to find Dan a nice cross-eyed girl. Judging by his last two girlfriends, that was what he was into. In any case, however annoyed Dan was, it was nothing compared to how pissed Geoff’s friend looked. He was a larger man, with a truly magnificent ginger beard, and kept shooting Gavin the dirtiest looks Gavin had ever seen. This continued until Dan went off to buy a drink and the other man followed him. Gavin saw them chatting by the bar, which was a bit strange, as Dan never usually associated with people who weren't perfectly polite to Gavin and the other man had fallen short of that requirement. Still, Gavin couldn't quite bring himself to care. He was entirely focused on the job at hand: getting Geoff’s number. But before he could do that, his phone alarm went off, telling him the armored truck was arriving. Shit. How disappointing. “Hate to cut this short, love, but I have an important meeting I can't miss.” Gavin smiled gently at how put out Geoff’s sleepy blue eyes looked. “Perhaps we’ll see each other again?” Geoff smiled.

“I hope so. Actually--” A hand descended onto Gavin’s shoulder, making him jump about a mile high.

“Come on, Gavin.” Dan’s voice sounded in his ear. It was a testament to how annoyed Dan really was that he called Gavin by his full name, not B or Gav. Gavin frowned but waved goodbye to Geoff and flounced out of the bar with Dan.

“What's got your pants in a twist, B?” Dan snorted.

“We're on a job, Gav. Now's not the time to flirt with the locals.” Gavin pouted.

“Just having a bit of fun.”

“Well, that bloke you were having fun with was Jack’s boyfriend, you know.” Gavin blinked, confused and a bit startled by this information.

“Who?”

“That red-haired man.” Realization dawned on Gavin.

“Oooh, that's why he looked right minged off.” Gavin grinned mischievously “Well, it's not up to me to make sure Geoff stays faithful.” Dan barked out a startled laugh and dropped an arm around Gavin's shoulders.

“You're _terrible,_ B.” Dan sounded amused rather than annoyed, however, and Gavin figured all was well. They approached the armored car. The two drivers were already headed into the cash loan place. Gavin parted ways with Dan and followed them in. He quickly drew the two drivers into conversation. They were rather more difficult to talk to than what Gavin was used to. They were clearly impatient to get back on the road, probably following some strict schedule. Gavin did his best, but charm could only take him so far. He soon found himself following the drivers back out, still nattering on, asking them questions about their jobs. He could only hope Dan had enough time to break into the truck and steal the gold. One driver immediately got back into the van, the other went around back. Gavin shifted nervously. He heard a yelp and a thud and was quick to draw his gun on the remaining driver before the man could get to his own gun. He had never shot anyone before but Dan had at least taught him gun basics after he came back from his service. Gavin wasn't planning on shooting this man if he could help it, though. Dan came around from the back of the van and held up a small, black safe. “Got it, B.” Gavin grinned and looked back at the driver.

“Sorry, love, today's just not your day.” Gavin heard a click and felt something hard jab into the back of his head.

“Could say the same thing about you,” came a voice and Gavin’s heart _dropped._ Not just because there was a gun being held against his head but because that voice belonged to _Geoff._

  


So, granted, their first heist hadn't exactly gone as planned, but they still got away with the money, so Geoff called it a success. Ray and Michael seemed a little less convinced, but Geoff promised the next heist would go better. It was rather straightforward: hijack an armored car. Ray would be stationed on the roof of the Cash N’Go to snipe the drivers when they got out. Then Geoff would take off with the truck. Jack would drive Ray back to their “base,” an empty warehouse on the outskirts of town. Michael would be waiting there for Geoff, where he'd blow the back of the truck wide open. Then they'd all split the cash and celebrate with booze (and coke for Ray). Once more, it should've been simple. Once more, the key word was: should’ve.

Nobody counted on Gavin. He was like some flashy, exotic bird with sparkling gold plumage. Almost as soon as Geoff met him, he was swept up in him. He knew he shouldn't be lusting after another man with Jack right there, but it had been centuries since a pretty, young thing paid Geoff any attention and Gavin said all the right things and laughed at all of Geoff’s jokes and Geoff couldn't help but be drawn in. And he _knew_ Jack was jealous. He was bristling mad, but he seemed have found some company with Gavin’s sour-faced friend, so Geoff couldn't bring himself to feel _too_ bad. All too soon, however, Gavin had to leave. The dingy bar Geoff was in seemed to lose all of its light when Gavin left, but Geoff didn't have the time to mourn the loss of this fascinating stranger before Ray’s uncertain voice crackled in his ear. “Um, guys? Somebody’s with the drivers and someone else is breaking into the fucking truck.” Geoff cursed. They were having the _worst_ luck with their heists lately. This could still be salvaged, however. “What should I do?”

“Nothing right now. Tell me when and if whoever it is gets into the back of the truck. We’ll just rob _them_ instead.”

“Got it,” came Ray’s response. Jack came back to sit next to Geoff, but was steadfastly refusing to look at him, which meant Geoff would have to do damage control when they got home. And really, it wasn't like he had been planning on doing anything with Gavin. He'd probably never see the other man again. Geoff had just been indulging in being flirted with. Geoff opened his mouth to reassure Jack, but before he could, Ray spoke up. “The back of the truck is open. Better swoop in now, guys.”

“Let's go,” Jack said, before standing. Geoff nodded and followed behind him. They headed out to the truck and Geoff felt his heart sink as he saw just who had hit their mark first. Motherfucking Gavin was pointing a gun at one of the drivers. What a shame they'd be pitted against each other. Geoff hurried to shove his own gun against Gavin’s head, not wanting Jack to get there first and use this as an excuse to take out the competition. Plus, it gave him an opportunity to make a cool quip, and he wasn't going to just pass that up. Geoff was hoping to rob Gavin and leave him alive. It might mar the other man’s opinion of Geoff, but at least he'd still be alive. Next to Geoff, Jack trained his gun on Gavin’s friend.

“Drop your weapons and put your hands in the air, the both of you,” Jack commanded them. Geoff watched Gavin comply, dropping his gun and raising his hands slowly.

“You don't really want to shoot me, do you, Geoff?” Gavin’s voice held the same sweet, enthusiastic tone it had at the bar, but Geoff could hear the undercurrent of fear in his voice. Geoff was going to answer but then Jack started shouting.

“I said put down your fucking weapon!” Both Geoff and Gavin turned towards the commotion. Things then snowballed very fast. First Gavin’s friend shot Jack, then Geoff shot Gavin’s friend. Without a gun trained on him, Gavin was free to pistol whip Geoff across the face. Geoff stumbled back, cursing and dizzy. Unfortunately, they had both forgot about the driver, who pulled his own gun and shot Gavin. Geoff felt a twinge of mourning as he watched Gavin fall. Then the van’s windshield shattered and the driver slumped against the steering wheel, having been sniped by Ray.

“Holy shit,” Geoff said, looking at the carnage. He frowned at Gavin, and dropped to his knees to check for any sign of life. Dead. What a shame. Geoff closed Gavin’s eyelids.

“Do you know that dude, Geoff?” Ray asked, presumably watching through his scope.

“Not really. Just met him in the bar. Kinda liked him. He was cute.” Geoff heard Ray snort.

“Thought you were with Jack, you dog.” Geoff huffed.

“I am!” Geoff said a tad defensively. “Just because I'm taken doesn't mean I'm fucking blind.” Ray snorted again, but didn't answer. Geoff walked over to Jack. He could hear sirens in the distance getting closer. Jack better resurrect soon, or they'd have to leave without the armored truck. God, Michael and Ray must think Geoff and Jack were totally incompetent. Before Jack stirred, however, someone else did.

“Bloody hell…” Geoff whirled around as Gavin pushed himself into a sitting position. No. Fucking. Way. “B?” Gavin said dazedly. Geoff didn't have time to work out why Gavin was either naming random letters or random insects before Gavin's friend started getting to his feet as well. Now Jack had better resurrect because suddenly Geoff was looking a little outnumbered.

“Holy shit!” Ray cursed in Geoff's ear, reminding him he wasn't outnumbered after all. He still had the advantage here. He needed to move fast, though. Dan was already raising his gun and they couldn't waste anymore time with dying or resurrecting.

“Wait!” Geoff hissed. He saw the man hesitate. “Cut you a deal. You come back to our base with us and we’ll split the money.” The man frowned and looked towards Gavin and his eyes widened, probably noticing that the front of Gavin’s shirt was covered in blood.

“B!” What was with these two and that letter? The man whipped his head back around to glare at Geoff. “You bloody shot him, you asshole!” Gavin looked very confused and looked down at his shirt. He made a squeaking, surprised noise, like a bird might make if it was stepped on.

“I didn't, I swear! It was the armored truck driver!”

“Geoff, police incoming. What’s the plan?” Geoff cursed.

“Get down here, Ray. Get Jack’s body to the car.” Geoff dropped to his knees and searched Jack’s pockets. He retrieved the keys. “Can you drive?” Geoff asked the man still pointing a gun at him.

“Yes, but--” Geoff threw the keys to him and the man caught them, startled.

“Drive my sniper and Jack back to the warehouse. Ray will tell you where to go.” The man looked rightly bewildered but Geoff had no time to explain. Ray was already running up to them, his rifle case slung over his shoulder. Geoff shouldered past Gavin, who was looking even more confused than his friend, and stole the keys to the van off the driver’s corpse. At this point, Geoff half expected him to come back to life, but he was still quite dead. Geoff tugged him out of the car and let him drop to the ground.

“What? But--” Gavin's friend began but Geoff cut him off.

“Unless you want to get arrested, go!” Geoff snapped. The man put his gun away and helped Ray pick up Jack’s body. Gavin made to follow his friend but Geoff grabbed his wrist. He noted that Gavin was trembling and he loosened his harsh grip. “You're with me.” At Gavin and his friend’s hesitation, Geoff dropped back into authoritative mode. “The cops are practically on top of us. Come _on.”_ At this Gavin clambered into the passenger seat, climbing over the driver's side. Geoff hopped into the driver’s side and slammed the door closed. He wasted no time in jamming the keys in the ignition and peeling out of the parking lot. He could only hope Ray, Jack, and Gavin’s friend made it to the car. Geoff looked over at Gavin as he barreled down an empty side road. If he had been a showy, exotic bird before, now he was a terrified owl, all wide eyes and trembling. “You okay?”

“No, I'm bloody well not okay!” Gavin snapped and began wringing his hands. None of his earlier confidence was present. Despite the fact that he was clearly very rattled and he was covered in his own blood, Geoff’s attraction towards him didn't lessen. Instead he just found Gavin’s reactions endearing, which, shit, probably wasn't a good sign. Geoff might be developing an honest to God crush. Jack would _not_ be happy. Especially since Geoff very much planned on Gavin and his friend joining their little gang of immortals. “Why in the Christ am I covered in blood? Who’s blood is this?” Geoff was surprised he didn't know, but then again, some deaths were so sudden and jarring, you didn't really find out what happened until someone told you.

“It's yours. Armored car driver shot you in the back.” Geoff could see Gavin staring at him out of his peripheral.

“Rubbish,” Gavin said after a while. “If I got shot, then how am I not dead? How come nothing hurts?” Geoff couldn't help his delighted grin. He was pretty sure this confusion meant Gavin just got his death cherry popped.

“Oh my God, was this your first resurrection? That's so _cute._ Look.” Geoff looked over at Gavin before reaching over a poking his finger through the bullet hole in Gavin’s shirt. Totally not an excuse to touch his surprisingly fuzzy chest. “This is where the bullet came out.” Gavin looked a bit sick and Geoff thumped him on the back.

“Bloody hell,” Gavin said weakly.

“You get used to it.” Gavin gave him a curious look as Geoff turned back to look at the road.

“So you're like Dan, then? Or… like us, I guess?”

“Dan?”

“My friend. You know, the one you shot.” Gavin said, sounding suddenly annoyed.

“Ah, so you knew he was immortal, then. That explains why you didn't lose your shit when I shot him, which was totally self defense, by the way. Unless you two aren't very close…?”

“We’re _very_ close. We grew up together. We’re best friends.”

“That's it?” Geoff asked in what he hoped was a casual voice, but Gavin caught on.

“Geoff, you naughty boy! You're trying to suss out whether I'm single or not, aren't you?” The teasing, gleeful note was back in Gavin’s voice. It made Geoff feel pleasantly warm all over, and also extremely guilty. A guilt which was not helped when Gavin continued. “I know you’re with Jack, too. Dan told me. Naughty, naughty boy.” Gavin sounded far more amused than scolding, but Geoff still felt ashamed. He still wasn't planning on ever cheating on Jack, but something about Gavin made Geoff want to flirt like he was 650 years younger. Also Gavin teasingly calling him naughty wasn't helping.

“I know. I'm terrible. Take pity on an old man, will you? I can't help being flattered when a cute young guy flirts with me.” Geoff turned in time to see Gavin give him a dazzling smile. Gavin put a hand on his leg, far too close to his dick.

“Oh, really?” Gavin practically purred. Geoff felt himself go red.

“I'm _not_ gonna cheat on Jack, though.” Geoff said sternly and Gavin withdrew his hand and pouted.

“Just as well, I suppose. I don't sleep with men who shoot Dan in the head.” Geoff chuckled, despite himself.

“To be fair, Dan shot my boyfriend first.”

“I'm assuming this means Jack’s immortal, too?”

“Yeah, or I’d be way more upset right now.” Gavin gave a thoughtful little hum and fell silent at that. He spoke up again a few minutes later.

“Geoff, how old are you?” Geoff frowned as he did some quick math in his head.

“Six hundred and sixty-seven, no, two! Sixty-two.” Gavin scoffed.

“Rubbish! I don't believe you!” Geoff laughed.

“It’s true! I was born in 1355.”

“Good lord, you're like the bloody crypt keeper, or something!” Geoff pouted.

“Mean.”

“Don't be sad. You're well fit for being that old. I guess immortals stop aging eventually?”

“After their first death. Looks like you lucked out. You'll be this cute forever.” Gavin ducked his head, actually seeming bashful. Geoff chuckled. Then three screaming police cars pulled into the street behind them. Geoff tensed. “Shit.” He watched as Ray and Jack’s car sped past them, tires squealing. Two of the police cars chased them, the third tailed Geoff. “Hold on, Gavin.” Geoff slammed his foot down on the gas pedal.

  


Dan grunted as he hauled Jack’s body into the backseat of the car and laid him out. He got into the driver's seat and sped off. Next to him, Geoff’s sniper, Ray, was dead silent. The man hadn't said a single word to him, merely setting up a GPS route on his phone for Dan to follow. Dan was hyper aware of Gavin’s absence. Dan knew Gavin was hurt, he saw the blood, but Geoff had whisked Gavin away before Dan could inspect the extent of the injuries. God, how had shit gone this fucking wrong? This was all that Geoff’s fault. No, it was all Geoff and _Gavin’s_ fault. Leave it to Gavin to hit on the one god damned asshole in the whole bar who was there to rob the same armored car as them. Thinking about the way Gavin had hung all over Geoff, shamelessly hitting on him, made something squirm uncomfortably in his gut. He looked in the rearview mirror at Jack’s corpse and felt a pang of regret. If Dan knew he was going to have to shoot the man, he wouldn't have gotten all friendly with him in the bar, wouldn't have confided in him. He was surprised Geoff wasn't more pissed off at him for killing his boyfriend. Then again, he didn't seem that surprised when Dan came back from the dead, so maybe nothing much rattled him. Either that, or… he had seemed awfully keen on flirting back with Gavin, so maybe he had fallen out of love with Jack. Even though Jack seemed pretty confident Geoff would never cheat on him. Who knows. It hardly mattered now that Jack was dead. The very dead Jack chose that moment to push himself into a sitting position. Dan yelped and jumped so hard he swerved wildly on the road. Ray had the gall to snort in amusement.

“What's going on?” Jack asked. Dan fought to keep his pulse under control.

“I could ask you the same question!” Jack’s eyes widened slightly.

“Dan?” Jack scowled suddenly. “You shot me!”

“Self defense! Besides, if it makes you feel any better, your boyfriend shot me back.” Jack frowned, eyes flicking over Dan.

“You don't look very shot,” he said skeptically.

“Neither do you,” Dan retorted. Jack snorted. Dan drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “So… I guess this means I'm not the only one who comes back from the dead?”

“Seriously? You've never met another immortal, dude?” Dan nearly jumped again when Ray spoke. He had almost forgotten the other man was there.

“Obviously not,” Dan said, a little tetchy with the stress of everything that had happened. Ray made an amused noise.

“Noob,” was Ray’s insightful comment. Which made Dan wonder if that meant Ray was also an immortal. There was a few beats of silence before Ray spoke again. “Wait, you must've known there were others because your friend is immortal, too.” Dan furrowed his brow, confused as to who Ray was referring to. Surely not Gavin…?

“What are you talking about?”

“The snobby looking blonde. Got shot in the back. Resurrected. Saw it through my scope. Guess you wouldn't have known, since you were dead at the time.” Dan felt his heart clench. Gavin had _died?_ And he was immortal. Dan was glad Gavin was physically okay, and apparently always would be, but he must be freaking out right now. Dan felt another twinge of resentment towards Geoff, for separating Dan and Gavin.

“Geoff shot Gavin?” Jack asked, sounding, in Dan’s opinion, much too pleased.

“Nope. Armored car driver shot Gavin. I shot the armored car driver. You know, because I was supposed to and _I_ actually follow the plan.” Dan couldn't quite tell if Ray’s flat voice was conveying amusement or annoyance.

“Oh,” was all Jack said.

“Well you don't have to sound so put out about it!” Dan huffed. Jack gave Dan a small smile.

“Sorry.” Jack sounded genuinely apologetic. Dan was somewhat mollified.

“Sorry I shot you.” Dan did genuinely feel bad about that. Silence once more descended before Jack broke it, sounding quite baffled.

“Wait, Dan, why are you _here?_ Why are you _driving?”_

Dan wasn't actually sure of the answer to that. “Um.”

“Dan’s a rare Pokemon and Geoff’s gotta collect them all,” Ray said. Confused silence followed this statement and Ray sighed as if Jack and Dan were being stupid. “Dan’s immortal so Geoff is trying to recruit him, I think. He's the one who told Dan to drive, anyway.” This was certainly news to Dan.

“Excuse me? _Recruit me?_ Recruit me for what?” It was Jack that answered.

“For his gang. He got it in his head a while back that he and I should get into the organized crime business and that our gang should be comprised entirely of other immortals.” Dan made a slightly distressed noise. He didn't fancy the idea of working with Geoff, or rather, he didn't fancy the idea of Gavin working with Geoff. “Obviously we’re not going to force you to join.” Jack said it a little too quickly and Dan was sure between Gavin hitting on his boyfriend, and Dan shooting him, Jack was less than keen to work with Dan and Gavin.

“Gavin will want to join. He gets lonely when it's just us, and besides, as I'm sure you noticed, he likes Geoff.” Dan could practically feel the heat of Jack’s glare.

“Well, he better keep his lonely hands off my boyfriend.” Jack grumbled, under his breath. Ray chuckled.

“I never took Geoff for the type to go all googoo eyed over some shallow blonde,” Ray said. 

“Me neither,” Jack said with a sigh. Dan bristled.

“He's not shallow!” It annoyed Dan when people took Gavin at face value, even though he knew that's what Gavin wanted, why he pretended to be the kind of guy who wore sunglasses at night and dyed his hair blonde. For Dan, it was difficult to see Gavin as anything other than the sweet, goofy, smart boy he grew up with.

“He wears _makeup.”_ Ray said, sounding skeptical.

“Yeah. So people will underestimate him and not see him as a threat until he's out the door with all their valuables.” Dan said, defensively.

“So he's manipulative?” Jack’s voice was stern and Dan could understand why. He could see why Jack might be worried that Geoff was being played by Gavin, but the thing was, there was more to it than that. Gavin didn't just run around manipulating everyone he saw, and Dan could tell when he was being sincere. Even if Gavin had been playing up the charming flirt with Geoff, Dan could see that Gavin genuinely liked Geoff, even if it was just a lust-fueled attraction between two strangers. Of course, Dan couldn't say this to Jack, since the news that Gavin was sincerely into his boyfriend probably wouldn't ease his mind any. “That's not all he is…” Dan said softly, because he couldn't think of anything else to say. Jack seemed to take this as a sign to change the subject.

“Where the hell is Geoff?” Jack asked.

“He and Gavin left in the armored truck, presumably headed towards the warehouse,” Ray answered, and Dan really wished Ray hadn't mentioned Gavin.

“He's with Gavin?” Dan could tell Jack was trying to sound very casual about that.

“I wouldn't worry about it. Geoff had just shot me and Gavin had just come back to life for the first time. I highly doubt Gavin would have been in any sort of flirtatious mood. I think they just went together because there was no room in the here, with you laying in the backseat and all.” Dan sort of doubted that was the only reason, if it was even a reason at all, but he wasn't going to mention that.

“And you couldn't have gone with Geoff instead?” The last thing Dan wanted was to be alone with Geoff. He probably shouldn't say that though. Dan shrugged.

“Gavin can't drive and I'm assuming Ray can't either, since Geoff told me to drive. With you passed out on us, this was the only possible combination that didn't leave your dead body with two strangers.” Not that Geoff knew Gavin couldn't drive, but now that Dan said that out loud, he was pretty sure splitting him and Gavin up was largely motivated by not wanting to leave Jack at the whims of the two men not part of Geoff’s little gang. That eased Dan’s mind a little, as well as Jack’s mind, it seemed, since he stopped looking like he just sucked on a particular sour lemon and didn't say anything further. Things were quiet for some time. Dan focused on driving and the GPS when a siren suddenly wailed out and their car was filled with flashing red and blue light. Dan tensed. _“Shit._ What do I do?” Dan asked, glancing at Jack in the rearview mirror, deferring to the older man without Gavin to direct him.

“Pull over. It might not be for us, or it might be for something stupid. No sense in drawing attention by running.” Dan flicked on his blinker and began pulling to the side of the road. He was gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. He did _not_ want to go to jail. “Relax, Dan. We’re going to be fine. I’ll tap you twice on the shoulder if I want you to floor it, alright?” Dan nodded.

“Alright.” Despite Dan’s earlier ire at Jack for having a go at Gavin, he couldn't help but be reassured by his calm, gentle voice. He watched in the rearview mirror as the police car pulled in behind him, and forced himself to stay calm as the officer sauntered up to his window and tapped on it. Dan rolled down his window. “How can I help you, officer?” Dan asked, proud his voice didn't waver.

“A car matching this description was seen leaving the scene of a crime down at the local Cash N’ Go about twenty minutes ago.” The officer might as well have said they were all going to jail for life, the way his words caused Dan’s heart to pound. Jack leaned forward and gripped the back of Dan’s seat. “I'm going to have to ask you boys to get out of the car.” Dan felt Jack’s fingers hit his shoulder twice, though at this point he hardly needed the cue. He slammed his foot down on the gas pedal and the car rocketed forward. Dan nearly crashed immediately, not used to operating a vehicle at such high speeds but he managed to keep the car under control. Dan had put about two miles and several cars between him and the officer before he had to slam on the brakes to avoid t-boning a semi truck. Jack bounced off the back of Dan's seat, having never put his seatbelt on after resurrecting, and Ray nearly went flying through the dash, as he had his seatbelt’s shoulder strap off.

“Put your bloody seatbelts on, you nutters!” Dan shouted, near hysterics at this point. Ray and Jack were quick to obey. “BLOODY SODDING LORY!” Dan yelled and leaned on the horn as the semi truck crawled out of their way. The sound of police sirens reached Dan’s ears and he could see the police car coming up on their ass. “Fucking bollocks!” Dan hit the gas again and the car lurched forward. Dan swerved around the truck and the rest of the traffic in their way. As their luck would have it, another police car was included in that traffic. “Dicking police!” Dan hissed as that car switched on its sirens and pulled out after them. Dan weaved in and out of cars, trying shake the police.

“Left here! Left here!” Jack suddenly cried out, and Dan jerked the wheel to the left, their tires bouncing over the curb and squealing with the effort. To Dan’s horror, the traffic was now headed towards them.

“This is a one way road!” Dan yelped and swerved to avoid a head on collision.

“I know! It makes it harder for the police to follow us.”

“It also makes it harder to run away!” A car ran off the road to avoid hitting them.

“We’ll take more risks than the police will!” Jack responded, which Dan supposed was true but he was shitting himself at the moment and no matter the logic, he really didn't want to be driving into head-on traffic anymore. The police were still on their tail but had fallen behind. “Right!” Dan made another screeching turn and was relieved when they were no longer playing an extended game of chicken. Back to weaving in and out of traffic then as just a few moments later, the police were back behind them. Dan willed their car to go faster even though they were already doing top speed. Dan hated the stupid law-abiding citizens pulling off to side of the road, clearing the way for the police.

“Hey, that was Geoff,” Ray suddenly spoke up.

“Fantastic. Do me a favor and flip him the bird for dragging me into this shit, will you?” To his surprise, Ray actually rolled down his window and stuck his middle finger out of it.

“Dan says fuck you, Geoff.” Dan was confused for a moment, before he realized Ray was speaking into a hands free walkie talkie. “Geoff says you can bite his whole ass.” Dan barked out a laugh despite their tense situation and Jack chuckled as well.

“This isn't good for Geoff. He'll never outrun the cops in that thing,” Ray said, rolling his window back up.

“He doesn't have to outrun them. It would take a whole hell of a lot to stop an armoured truck,” Jack pointed out.

“But how will he lose the police?”

“I'm more concerned about how _we’re_ going to lose the police,” Dan said through gritted teeth as he nearly clipped a car going through an intersection. Jack bit his lip, obviously thinking. “FUCK!” Several police cars suddenly pulled in ahead of them, blocking the road.

“Slow down! Slow down! Get in behind Geoff’s truck and follow him!” Dan pressed down on the brakes, swerving to the left to butt in between Geoff and the police car following him. The police car nearly slammed into them but hit its brakes last second. That didn't save it from the other two police cars following Dan, however. They smashed together, spinning off the road. Geoff was barreling towards the police blockade as if he didn't even see it. Dan imagined Gavin was screaming his bloody head off right about now. There was a horrible cacophony of crunching metal and Dan saw police officers throwing themselves out of their cars and out of the way. Geoff barely slowed as he pushed his way through three cars, clearing the way for Dan. “Ray, give Dan your comm.” Dan took the small device and shoved it quickly into his ear before putting both hands back on the wheel.The first thing he heard was Gavin’s squeaking, panicked voice. It sounded far away, but it was still clear.

“Geoffrey! Geoffrey! Our bonnet is right fucked now! Are you bloody _bonkers?!_ KEEP BOTH HANDS ON THE STEERING WHEEL, WILL YOU?!” Then Geoff spoke up, sounding far more amused than anyone in this situation had a right to.

“I'm _comforting_ you.”

“Comfort me without compromising your ability to drive!” Geoff laughed.

“Well at least one of us is having fun,” Dan said dryly.

“Dan?” Geoff inquired.

“Yes.”

“We’re headed for a tunnel to lose the police copters. Try not to lose me, but if you do, Jack’ll know the way.”

“Got it.”

“Are you talking to Dan?” Gavin demanded. “Is he okay?”

“Tell him I'm fine,” Dan said.

“Dan says he's fine, Gav. Deep breaths, buddy. In and out, come on.” Dan heard Gavin taking deep, exaggerated breaths. “That's it.” At least Geoff was making a concentrated effort to calm Gavin down. Dan felt a little less cantankerous towards Geoff, even though, judging by Gavin’s earlier shrieking, Dan was pretty sure Geoff was touching Gavin right now. Judging by Jack’s grumpy expression, he had to come to the same conclusion, or maybe he was just annoyed that Geoff was being so familiar with Gavin.

“How did you first die, anyway, Geoff?” Gavin asked, seemingly picking up an earlier conversation from when Geoff and Gavin had been out of range of the comms. Geoff chuckled.

“Jack shot me in the head.” Dan raised his eyebrows, looking at the Jack in the rearview mirror. Jack seemed pleased about this sudden change in topic, he was smiling as if recalling a fond memory, even though Dan was pretty sure shooting your boyfriend in the head would be anything but.

“Wow, talk about a domestic dispute,” Gavin said. Even Jack laughed at that.

“We didn't know each other yet,” Geoff explained.

“Before I shot you, I was thinking how terrible it was to kill such a handsome rogue,” Jack said.

“Awww, how sweet,” Geoff crooned. “Then I stabbed you in the chest.”

“In the _heart,_ like Cupid’s arrow.” Dan laughed at that. Geoff snorted.

“You’re so cheesy. You're lucky I love you, otherwise I'd never put up with such a giant sap.” Jack rolled down the window and stuck his arm out, putting up his middle finger within sight of Geoff’s mirrors.

“You see this, Geoff? All for you.”

“Jack, I'm blushing. Don't promise to finger me in front of the others.” Dan made a noise of disgust.

“Geoff!” Jack sounded torn between being scandalized and amused.

“You're gross, Geoffrey!” Gavin said, definitely sounding amused. Geoff was laughing uproariously. He had something of a contagious laugh and soon Dan, Gavin, and Jack were giggling along with him, with Ray looking on in mild bemusement.

“This is a long tunnel. Jack and I have lost many a police copter in it.” Dan looked but could see no evidence of a tunnel.

“Where is it?”

“Just ahead here.”

“I don't see it,” Dan said, confused.

“Oh, well, you wouldn't. Turn right here!” Geoff must’ve lost his goddamn mind because Dan couldn't see where it was possible to turn right. To the right of them was sidewalk and people. But Geoff just swung right, scattering the crowd.

“ARE YOU MAD?!” Dan shouted.

“GEOFFREY!” Gavin screeched.

“Keep following him!” Jack yelled. Dan hesitated and yelped when Ray took hold of the wheel and jerked it to the right, forcing them to follow close after Geoff.

“What do you think you're doing?!” Dan cried. Ray let go of the wheel, relinquishing control to Dan once more.

“I’d rather not go to jail because you're too pussy to go off-roading. Besides, we’re less likely to run someone over if we follow Geoff through crowd.” Dan couldn't argue with that logic but he was still pissed with Ray and set to grumbling under his breath. Then the world stopped making sense. One moment there was sky and ground and people, the next they were pitched forward and everything disappeared. The car was rattling so bad that Dan thought it might shake his head loose from his shoulders. “Shit!” Ray yelped, sounding for the first time shaken by the proceedings. Dan took a sort of vindictive pleasure in that, but was almost immediately distracted by the realization that this was the tunnel Geoff had meant, and they were currently on stairs. They suddenly leveled out to a brightly lit, concrete area.

“Geoff… this isn't a fucking tunnel. IT'S A MINGING SUBWAY STATION!”

“I know!” Geoff’s armored truck sailed off the edge of the platform and landed on the tracks.

“Geoff, no! No, Geoff! Geoff!” Gavin was yelling and Dan had to agree, but his foot was on the gas pedal and before he even had time to reconsider, they were slamming into the ground below the platform. Dan tugged the wheel to the left, following Geoff and avoiding a collision with the wall of the tunnel. “We’re gonna die,” Gavin said miserably.

“Wouldn't matter if we did,” Geoff said.

“Maybe not to _you_. But I didn't like dying much. Don't plan on doing it again any time soon.”

“Relax, Gav. We’re going to be fine.”

“KEEP BOTH HANDS ON THE WHEEL, GEOFFREY!” Dan snorted.

“Yeah, _Geoffrey,”_ Jack piped up. “Hands to yourself.”

“Jack, I hope you don't think I'm doing anything _untoward_ to Gavin. I'm deeply offended.” Before Jack could answer, the car filled with bright light.

“SUBWAY!” Dan called and fuck they were dead now weren't they? Gavin was back to flipping his shit, and Dan could barely hear Geoff over his panicked yelping and the subway’s blaring horn.

“--left!” was all he heard but it was enough to warn him before Geoff disappeared from his line of sight. Dan couldn't quite see but he yanked the wheel left and suddenly they were barreling down a different set of tracks. “Gavin! GAVIN!” Geoff called over Gavin’s yelling. Gavin quieted. “We’re fine, see? I know what I'm doing.” Geoff did seem to know how to drive through the subway system suspiciously well. The calm didn't last long, however.

“Bloody hell! It's gonna hit us head on! There's no tunnels!” Gavin’s terrified voice alerted Dan that there was another subway, this time heading towards them rather than coming from behind.

“There's one to the right up ahead,” Geoff said.

“We’ll never make it!” Gavin cried.

“We’ll make it.” Geoff sounded so confident, it eased Dan’s mind somewhat. He concentrated on following Geoff as closely as possible. Gavin seemed less convinced, and he made squawking noises up until the very moment they were making a hard right. Dan imagined some of the paint on his car’s bumper might have just been scraped off by the passing subway. Dan was so focused on following Geoff he hardly noticed they were bumping their way back onto the platform in an area where it had been made much lower than usual. Dan was beginning to think not much of this city was built to code. Another shaking ride up the subway stairs and they were bursting out into the night air. Gavin barely had enough time to realize they were back on the road and he could stop screaming before they were jerking their cars into a large, empty warehouse. They came to a screeching halt and a Dan saw a disgruntled looking man with curly hair leap up from where he had been sitting and close the warehouse doors behind them. Dan sat in the driver's seat, feeling a little shell-shocked now that the whole ordeal seemed to be over. He got out of the car as soon as he saw Gavin getting out of the truck. Gavin put his hands on the knees, gagging.

“That was the worst, bloody-- I'm gonna be sick.” Geoff came to a standstill besides Gavin and rubbed his back, but upon seeing Jack and his disapproving stare, he was quick to withdraw his hand and go to Jack instead. Dan was all too happy to take Geoff’s place. He pulled Gavin into a tight hug.

“You're okay, B. We’re safe now.” Gavin’s breath slowly returned to normal.

“Who are these two assholes?” Gavin pulled away from Dan and they both looked to see curly hair and freckles looking at them with undisguised suspicion.

“Immortals,” Jack answered. Curly hair frowned.

“I thought Ray and I were the only immortals you had recruited. You didn't mention these guys when you told us about the plan.”

“That's because we only just met them at the bar we were waiting for the armored car at,” Geoff explained. The other man snorted.

“You're the worst, dude. Can't you stick to any plan?” Geoff pouted.

“Hey, the first time wasn't my fault, Michael, and this time I made… necessary improvisations!”

“Well at least you got the truck here,” Michael said. “So are these douchebags part of the crew now or what?” Dan bit his lip when Geoff turned to them.

“Consider this your official job offer,” Geoff said. Gavin seemed genuinely surprised, but Dan had been warned this was coming.

“Wait, what?” Gavin said. “Just like that?” Geoff gave him a small smile. Jack crossed his arms and looked annoyed but didn't comment.

“Yeah, just like that.” Gavin looked to Dan but Dan just shrugged.

“Up to you, B.” Gavin turned back towards Geoff and bit his lip.

“As long as we don't take any more impromptu drives in the subway system.”

“Jesus, what the fuck _happened?!”_ Michael exclaimed, but he went ignored for now.

“No promises,” Geoff said. “But we can try to keep it to a minimum.” Gavin shifted from foot to foot thinking.

“...Alright. We’ll join.” Geoff grinned wide and clapped his hands together.

“Excellent!” A terrible thought suddenly struck Dan.

“B… I accidentally left the gold back at the Cash N’Go.” He had naturally dropped it when Geoff killed him. Gavin looked confused before he groaned.

“Joel’s gonna bloody kill us.”


	6. Hades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at this, another update six months later at a stupid time of night. Or morning, rather.

“But why did you leave the _gold?!_ ” Joel cried for what felt like the hundredth time. Gavin sighed, as Dan began to explain exactly what happened all over again. They were standing in Joel’s office, a sizable amount of cash on the desk between them. It equaled the same amount the gold was worth, but Joel was still displeased. “But the gold…” he said with a pout when Dan finished retelling his story again.

“Seriously? That’s the bit you’re going to focus on?” Gavin said, exasperated. “Not the part where it turns out we’re fucking immortal?” Joel flapped a hand at Gavin dismissively.

“I mean, that was shocking at first, sure. I thought you lost your god damned minds, especially when Dan shot himself in the head. But you proved you’re all freaky and mutant and shit so I’m over that now. I’m more focused on the fact that that gold could be anywhere, by now. Anyone could have it! It was worth a lot. I already had buyers lined up.”

“Pretty sure the police have it. And we can steal more gold blocks. They’re all the same, right?” Dan said, shrugging. Joel sighed and rubbed his temples.

“Look, my reputation is on the line here! I’m supposed to be the guy with the hookup to untraceable stolen gold! Now I have clients and no gold!”

“Alright, we’ll steal more gold _soon._ Really soon,” Gavin said. He was sprawled out on the black leather couch in Joel’s office and when Joel turned to him, Gavin saw his eyes flick over Gavin’s body, probably taking in all the gold he was wearing at the moment. “We can melt my stuff down if you want,” Gavin said. He could always get more. He wasn’t particularly attached to anything he was wearing, save for, perhaps his sunglasses, just because they were so hard to replace. But those weren’t actually gold, anyway. Joel gave him a small smile.

“That won’t be necessary. It would be a shame really. You always look so good in gold, Gavin.” Gavin fluttered his eyelashes at Joel teasingly. “Besides, it would probably take too long. All that processing. If you guys can steal some more gold within oooh, forty-eight hours, then no harm, no foul.” That wasn’t a lot of time. “Maybe your new friends can help you.” Maybe. It was asking a lot but Gavin got the impression they did heists because they were bored with eternity. Maybe they didn’t give a shit about what they were stealing.

“Great. So you won’t be needing this reimbursement money, then?” Gavin nodded at the cash on Joel’s desk. Joel hesitated, looking at the cash before he caught Gavin’s eye again. Gavin gave him a disarming smile, adding a little bit of pout into it. Joel sighed.

“No, take it. But you guys better get that gold.” Gavin saluted as Dan scooped the cash back into his backpack. They bid Joel farewell as they left his office.

“He fancies you, you know,” Dan said once they were outside. Gavin snorted.

“No he doesn’t. Not really. He just likes all this gold I wear. He has like, a gold fetish.” Dan chuckled and slung an arm around Gavin’s neck.

“If you play this act with everyone, no one will ever get to know the real you well enough to properly fancy you.” Gavin laughed airily and leaned into Dan.

“That’s what I have you for, B,” Gavin teased. Dan went a bit pink.

“Yeah, but I don’t fancy you. I would never. I mean, uh, not that I don’t think you’re lovely but we’re basically brothers and all,” Dan said, stumbling over his words. Gavin raised his eyebrows. He had just been kidding but was it possible Dan actually had feelings for him? Gavin almost immediately wrote the idea off as ridiculous. He had known Dan since before he had hit double digits, and he was good at telling when people were into other people. If Dan liked him like that, Gavin would know. Gavin just shook his head.

“Just a joke, B. Come on, let’s get back to the others.

  


“That’s it! I give up!” Geoff threw down his pen and groaned into his hands. “We’ve been at this for hours! We’re losing time.” Jack rubbed Geoff’s shoulders as Geoff took an impressive swig from a bottle of whiskey. They were all crowded around Geoff and Jack’s kitchen table, trying to figure out how to get their hands on six gold bricks within forty-eight hours. They were getting nowhere, though. Every plan was hitting roadblocks. No one wanted to end up in jail for this. Not for a such a small job for two men the rest hardly knew.

“It’s no big deal, Geoff. Joel will be upset, yeah, but it’s not the end of the world if we can’t pull it off,” Gavin said. Geoff pouted.

“Yeah, but I really wanted to do it. Never had to do a heist with such a serious time crunch before. It was a challenge.” And part of him, the part he was desperately trying to keep quashed down, especially in front of Jack, wanted to do it for Gavin. In any case, he was quite disappointed it didn’t seem possible.

“Sometimes you gotta let sidequests go, man,” Ray said sagely, nodding his head.

“And sometimes, you just have to talk to the other players to see if they have what you need,” said a voice that sounded much, much too familiar. Their heads snapped up, and Geoff was pretty sure they all collectively shit themselves. He felt Jack tense besides him. Gavin made a funny sort of squawking noise. Dan and Michael cursed, going for their weapons. Ray gripped the table, looking suddenly faint, which was saying quite a lot, considering his normally stoic nature. Geoff himself may or may not have let out a less than manly yelp. Standing at the other end of their table was none other than the Vagabond himself. But Geoff’s hammering heart wasn’t practically beating out of his chest just because there was a notorious hitman in his apartment. He recognized that voice, and not just because it sounded a lot like his boyfriend’s.

“Ryan.” Geoff heard Jack draw a sharp breath in surprise. It would make sense that the hitman that gave dangerous criminals nightmares would be that immortal monster Jack and Geoff had met all those years back. Geoff was surprised he didn’t see it before. Ryan was even still wearing a skull, even if it was, thankfully, a fake one this time. Geoff had said at the start that he wouldn’t go looking for Ryan, but it seemed Ryan went looking for them. Ryan inclined his head, as if confirming the name Geoff had uttered, and tossed something onto the table. It landed with a loud thud. Geoff stared at it quizzically. It was a small safe. “What’s this?” But Dan was the one who answered.

“Bloody hell. That’s the gold! How’d you get that?” He and Michael had their guns out but only Michael had his raised now, as Dan had let his drop in surprise.

“Easy. Just picked it up off the ground after you idiots left it lying there.”

“You’ve been watching us,” Jack said, his eyes narrowed. “For how long?” Ryan dropped into a kitchen chair. Geoff was less than pleased about him making himself at home in their apartment. He was silent for so long, that Geoff was sure he wasn’t even going to answer. “Well?” Jack demanded.

“I’m trying to do the math,” Ryan said, and it was such a ridiculous statement coming from him that Geoff actually snorted. “Only I don’t remember the year we met. Well, since then, essentially.” Geoff was no longer even mildly amused. He’d been watching them that entire fucking time and they had never noticed? It made him feel sick.

“Wait, you guys know the Vagabond? You’re like… on first name basis?” Ray sounded awed and it was such a strange thing to hear. It was a strange thing to see, as well, as Ray’s normally impassive face was displaying clear admiration. God, no one should admire Ryan. He was a nightmare in psycho wrapping.

“We’re not friends,” Jack said, voice tight. “Active enemies, I might even say.” Dan and Gavin were giving each other nervous looks and even Michael looked a little uncertain about his decision to pull a gun on _the_ Vagabond.

“That’s a little harsh, Jack. Especially considering I saved your boyfriend from being sent to jail.” Jack shot Geoff an uncertain look and Geoff shrugged.

“He shot down the cops after that last heist went wrong.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Jack demanded. Geoff frowned, feeling a little guilty about that now.

“I was going to, but you know, things happened.” Jack gave an exasperated sigh.

“You might as well put those away,” Jack said to Dan and Michael. “He's immortal.” They both slowly tucked their guns away.

“That makes sense,” Ray blurted out and everyone turned to look at him. He shied away from their gaze, dropping his own to the floor. Even Michael looked surprised at Ray’s sudden shift in demeanor. “I mean, everyone says he, er, you have a one hundred percent success rate when it comes to hits. So it makes sense you're one of us.”

“He's not one of us!” Geoff snapped, surprising even himself with his vitriol. He couldn't help it. Even after all these years, the memory of Jack begging to be taken instead, his stricken face when Ryan doused Geoff with kerosene, the genuine fear of death filling him, and, oh god, the _pain_. It all still filled him with a sick sense of dread. “He's _psychotic.”_ Ray shifted uncomfortably and Gavin and Michael were staring at Geoff with open curiosity.

“Christ. What the hell happened between you guys?” Michael asked. Jack shook his head.

“I’d rather not discuss it.”

“Did I really leave such a lasting, negative impression on you?” Ryan sounded torn between being amused and annoyed. “That was over a hundred years ago. What's a little murder between immortals?”

“Torture, you mean,” Jack said, dryly. To Geoff’s surprise, Ryan barked out a laugh.

“That wasn't torture. You would have known if it was torture.” That, more than anything, made Geoff’s blood run cold.

“Why the hell are you here? What the hell do you _want?”_ Ryan put his hand on top of the safe containing the gold.

“I couldn't help but take notice when you started pulling jobs with people other than Jack. Imagine my surprise when I realized you were gathering a crew of other immortals.” Geoff scowled, feeling as though he knew where this was going. “I want to hire you.” Geoff’s eyes widened. He _hadn’t_ known where it had been going, after all.

 _“What?”_ The others seemed just as shocked as Geoff. Geoff’s first instinct was to tell Ryan they weren’t interested, that he should crawl back to whatever hole he had come from and stay there, but burning curiosity made him keep listening.

“I’m looking into the origins of immortality. I’ve got leads, but I don’t have the manpower to look into them. There’s a man, Flynt Coal. He’s a private investigator and rumor has it he has some information about us. However, he refuses to work with me, and he’s quite good at making himself disappear. I haven’t been able to track him down myself.” The surprises kept coming. This was the last thing Geoff had expected. He turned to the others, most of whom were still staring at Ryan. Jack was looking at Geoff, however. Geoff jerked his head towards the corner of the room. They both stood up, leaving the others huddled around the table as they moved off to speak privately.

“We can’t trust him,” Jack began and Geoff snorted, but it was humorless.

“Obviously, but I’ll admit I’m curious as dicks about all this. We don’t have to trust him. We don’t have to _like_ him. It’s just this one job and maybe we’ll all be one step closer to understanding the mysteries of immortality. Plus, he’s offering us the gold for Gav and Dan.” Jack’s face hardened.

“Oh, who cares about that?” he snapped. Geoff sighed. Oh, right. He still needed to do damage control.

“I’ll freely admit I was a dick to flirt with Gavin,” Geoff said. Jack snorted.

“You got that right.”

“But I’ve stayed by your side for six hundred and twenty years. I’m not going to suddenly go prancing off with some new guy just because he’s pretty and charming.” Jack deflated a little.

“I know. I always knew that, of course. It’s hard not to be incredibly secure in my relationship after this much time.” Jack chuckled. “But he’s _so_ attractive and _new_. I can’t help but feel a little hurt, a little worried when things between us have never been like that. You know? We never had some electric connection, some heady honeymoon period. We were always just a slow burn. Which is great, and we’ll keep on burning forever, but I know you, Geoff. I know a part of you wants to experience some crazy, passionate fling.” Geoff put his hands on Jack’s shoulders.

“You’re right. I won’t deny that. I wouldn’t get away with denying it, anyway. But I would give up a hundred million Gavins for you.” Jack’s eyes softened.

“You’re such a sap.” He leaned up and kissed Geoff, Geoff pressed back into the kiss, deepening it before turning away.

“But maybe a threesome…” Geoff teased, grinning wickedly. Jack laughed and pushed at him.

“You’re _terrible._ Though, perhaps I’ll consider it.” Jack’s eyes twinkled mischievously. Geoff’s eyes widened slightly, shocked.

“Wait, really?”

“We’re supposed to be discussing whether or not to take Ryan’s job offer, Geoff.” Geoff made an indignant noise, not ready to give up the topic so easily.

“Jack!” he cried accusingly. Jack gave him a patient smile.

“We can discuss it later. Now, seriously, the job?” Slightly mollified, Geoff was able to turn back to his thoughts on Ryan and the job. He was surprised how much he wanted to do this. How long had he been burning with curiosity about his own affliction? Now seemed like the perfect time to find out, having gathered a group of other immortals.

“I say we do this.” Jack nodded.

“I don’t like that we have to work with Ryan, but we could be close to something really big here.” Geoff nodded.

“Then it’s decided.” They moved back to the table. It seemed the others had all just been staring silently at Ryan as he casually cleaned his gun, his legs crossed. Geoff cleared his throat. “We’ll do it, then.” It was impossible to tell with the mask, but Geoff reckoned that Ryan seemed relieved or happy. Some of the tension seeped out of his shoulders, anyway.

“Very well.” Ryan pushed the gold towards to Gavin, who squawked and caught it before it fell off the table. Gavin peered intently at Ryan.

“You know, I reckon you’re a bit less scary now that I know your name. _Ryan._ That’ll hardly strike fear in the hearts of men, will it?” The others shot Gavin an alarmed look. Sure, Ryan couldn’t kill Gavin, not permanently, but he could sure as hell hurt him for talking shit. Ryan got up and strode over to him. Geoff tensed, ready to step in if Ryan got violent. Dan was stiffening next to him, going for his gun again. Ryan leaned down close to Gavin’s face.

“Why? Do you prefer _James Haywood?”_ Geoff could be imagining it, but it sounded like there was something almost teasing in Ryan’s voice, though he had no idea what Ryan was talking about now. Though it seemed Gavin _did_. At first, his brows furrowed, just as confused as the rest of them before he _paled_ and made a sound like air being let out of a balloon. Ryan straightened up, chuckling. He patted Gavin on the shoulder before striding towards the door. “I need to pick some things up. I’ll be back within the hour to discuss our plan.” He strode out the door and they all watched it close behind him.

  


The sun was high in the sky, but the countryside never got very hot. Ryan was playing in front of his family’s hut, far too young to work the fields. His mother had put him outside because he was being hyperactive in his excitement. His father was coming home today from the three day trip to the nearest cattle market and Ryan couldn’t wait. His father promised him he would bring Ryan home his own dairy cow to care for and at the age of four, the idea of having his own cow seemed like a wild fantasy come true. He shouted with delight when he saw his father crest the hill, riding their old mule, who was pulling a rickety cart. There were several cows in tow. Ryan went running to him, only tripping over his own feet twice. “Woah, there!” Ryan’s father said, laughter in his voice. He scooped up his son, cradling him in his arms. “Where are you going in such a hurry, young man?” Ryan flung his arms around his father’s neck.

“You’re back!” he cried happily, pulling back to grin goofily at his father. Then suddenly his expression became incredibly serious. “Did you bring me my cow?” His father laughed.

“All business, I see!” Ryan’s father set him down and dismounted his mule. He bent into the cart and lifted a small calf out. She was reddish-brown and she gave a high-pitched moo that still somehow sounded too deep for such a small creature. Ryan gasped, delighted. He stroked the cow’s velvet fur. “Have you thought of a name, yet?”

“Edgar!” His father chuckled, ruffling Ryan’s golden hair.

“Why, that’s a boy’s name! Dairy cows are girls, Ryan.” Ryan huffed and crossed his arms, like he often saw his father do when he was angry.

“Edgar can be a girl’s name!” His father gave Ryan a fond smile.

“Oh, very well. Edgar the milk cow it is, then. Come help me get Edgar and the other cows settled in then.” Ryan’s face brightened once more and he skipped along his father back to their home.

Revolt. At eight years old, Ryan had no idea what that word meant, but it sure was being thrown around a lot these days. He heard it whispered in the streets when he went to fetch water from the well. He heard it spoken of angrily by the king’s guards. He even heard his mother and father speaking of it in hushed tones when they thought he was asleep. He didn’t pay it too much mind. Most of his days were spent worrying about whether the crops were watered, and tending to their animals. Under his tender, careful care, Edgar had become their best milk producer. She was one of Ryan’s best friends, and she would let him ride her through town while he ran errands for his family.

He was eating dinner with his parents, talking and laughing as they went over the events of that day. Suddenly someone started banging on the door. The wooden slab shuddered with the force of it. “Open up!” came a gruff, authoritative voice. “This is the royal guard! We know you’re guilty of treason!” Ryan looked uncertainly towards his parents, who looked stricken.

“What’s going--” Ryan began to ask but his father hushed him.

“Ryan, go to the barn and hide. Do not come out until I come to find you!” Ryan frowned but knew better to disobey a direct order. He was scared, but scurried towards the barn, throwing himself inside. He immediately went to Edgar and crouched besides her, wrapping his arms around her neck. Her solid presence comforted him, but could not block out the screams of his mother and father. The silence that followed though was somehow was even more terrible. He shuddered and pushed his face into Edgar’s shoulder. She gave a low, mournful moo, and he hushed her.

Quiet seconds stretched on into minutes and Ryan shifted restlessly. Suddenly, the barn doors were thrown open. Ryan was expecting his father. He was _not_ expecting the king himself, standing in the door of the barn like it was the most natural thing for him to be doing. He was holding a sword, and it was dripping with a dark substance. The king looked around before spotting Ryan. “Child,” he intoned. Ryan threw himself into a bow.

“Your Majesty!” He didn’t understand what was happening, but he knew you were supposed to bow to a king. The king laughed, low and cold.

“Do not bow to me, boy, for I have slain your parents. They’re dead.” Ryan’s blood ran cold. He may be eight, but he knew what ‘slain’ meant, understood death. It happened enough to farm animals and the people of his village. He did not straighten from his bow, but only because he couldn’t move. He wept openly, only moving after a moment to clutch Edgar. The king strode forward and gripped Ryan’s chin, forcing him to look at him. Ryan blinked up at the king, the older man’s eyes were light brown, almost orange, and they burned like a fire straight through Ryan. “You,” the king said, “look just like my son.” Ryan swallowed thickly, not understanding the significance of that statement. The king dropped his hand from Ryan’s face. “Come, peasant boy. This is no longer your home.” Ryan was so confused and upset. He continued clinging to Edgar, shell-shocked by everything. The king grimaced at him. “Do _not_ make me repeat myself, peasant boy, or you will sorely regret it.” Ryan scrambled to his feet, but remained standing by Edgar.

“P-please, Your Highness, my c-cow.” The king raised an eyebrow and Ryan steeled himself, trying to feel braver than he was. “Please let me bring her with me. She’s a very good dairy cow! She’s all I have left…” The king laughed heartily.

“I suppose the royal herd could stand to have another join its ranks. Very well, boy, bring your cow.” Ryan scrambled to get her harness and slipped it on her face. She waddled after him as he followed the king out of the barn and into his new life.

The king’s son, James, was ill with a terrible fever. He was not long for this world. He was the king’s only heir and the queen had died during childbirth. The king feared one of his court would see it as an opportunity to rise to power. Take the king out and there would be a mad scramble for the crown. So, the king needed an heir. His plan was simple. Ryan, who looked so very much like his son, would _be_ the king’s son, miraculously recovered from his illness. He would be educated and trained in all the ways a prince would. He would be royalty and one day would take the crown. All he had to do was swear unwavering loyalty to the man who murdered his parents, obey him unquestioningly, and call him father. It made Ryan sick, but he had no choice. The king would surely have him killed if he refused.

The king held none of the warmth Ryan’s father had. He was cruel and calculating, would strike Ryan for the most minor of mistakes. He often called Ryan ‘peasant boy’ (though never within earshot of others, lest they realize Ryan’s, or rather, “James’s” true origins) and dealt him cutting insults. Ryan learned very quickly that the king would not tolerate tears. “Princes do not cry,” he snapped, “because kings can not allow themselves to show weakness. Now dry your eyes lest I feel it necessary to lash you with my belt.” Ryan would always end up at the barn at the end of the night, seeking comfort in Edgar. The king often taunted him for only having a cow for a friend, but Ryan could not bring himself to care.

By twelve years old, Ryan had grown harder, his sorrow giving way to a cold fury that he kept buried inside him, for fear of punishment. His tutors all praised him for his high intelligence, and his mentor in sword-fighting was quite pleased with his progress. The only of his teachers that had complaints was his etiquette tutor, who often was on the wrong end of Ryan’s sharp tongue. The king never once praised Ryan, however, but Ryan was fine with this. He didn’t want compliments from the man he hated so dearly.

“Your cow has stopped producing milk,” the king said to Ryan one evening. Ryan stared impassively back at the king, back straight and hands clasped behind him.

“That does not bother me,” Ryan said immediately. The king snorted and drew his sword. Ryan could not help but flinch, and he hated himself for still being a coward when confronted with the king. The king held the sword out until Ryan took it.

“Well, it bothers me. It is a waste of resources. You will kill it.” Ryan’s heart _dropped._ He wanted to argue, scream, cry. But he knew that would only earn him punishment.

“Very well,” he said, because he could say nothing else.

The king stood besides him, Ryan was trembling as he stroked Edgar’s fur. “Do it, peasant boy. It’s just an animal.” Ryan raised his sword. He could thrust it into the king’s heart. He could do it and no one would be able to stop him. He would be king and no one would question him. Yet… four years worth of fear and obedience was hard to break through, and when you got down to it, Ryan was just a child. He was a child that had never killed anyone, and he berated himself for it, but the idea of human blood on his hands made him far too sick.

“I’m sorry old friend,” Ryan murmured, before bringing the sword down.

Ryan was shaking and crying as he stood besides his fallen friend. “What have I told you about crying, peasant boy?” Ryan rounded on the king, anger burning in his eyes.

“Shut up. Just _shut up,”_ Ryan snarled, far past the point of caring, of being afraid. The king scowled and stepped forward, hand raised, only to find the point of the sword pressed against his chest. “You gave me your sword, fool king,” Ryan sneered. He swore the king looked _amused,_ but Ryan couldn’t bring himself to care. He turned back to Edgar’s body and began hacking off her head. He swallowed down his urge to vomit. The king laughed.

“What are you doing, peasant boy? It’s dead already.” Ryan ignored him, until the head was completely off. He picked it up by one of the horns.

“I’m keeping this.” Ryan threw the king’s sword down at his feet and walked away.

  


Eight years later, and Ryan was well known for carrying around a cow skull and talking to it. He was cruel to the servants, taking his anger at the king out on them. He knew what they all called him behind his back: Mad Prince. They all thought him insane. Well, good. It made people avoid him, _fear_ him. Ryan hated how he looked quite a bit like the king, _acted_ like him. Ryan was sometimes mistaken for him by a new servant, or by someone who wasn’t paying enough attention. The main difference between them was their eyes. The king’s were like orbs of burning fire, and Ryan’s, chips of glinting ice. Either way, everyone flinched away from their gazes.

Ryan pushed through branches and ploughed through underbrush. Sweat poured down his back even though the sun was mostly obscured by trees. He had been hiking in wilderness for hours now, and it was taking its toll on him. Ryan spent most of his twenties exploring. It was good to get out of the kingdom and away from the king’s watchful eye. He never took anyone with him. He had no friends. Everyone feared him and Ryan didn’t desire to travel with those who were being forced to be in his company. Ryan slung his pack off his shoulders. He tried to pack light, but he always had Edgar’s skull with him, and it was at least ten pounds. He could use some rest before he headed back home. He threw himself on the ground. Sitting was only relaxing for about ten seconds until the old tree root he was sitting against gave way and he went tumbling down a steep hill. He tried to slow his descent by digging his fingers into the dirt but it was no use. He eventually stopped when he slammed into a rock hard surface. Groaning softly, he pushed himself into a sitting position and quickly checked on the skull in his bag. No worse for the wear. Relieved, he stood up shakily and looked at what he hit. It was a cliff face, but it wasn’t just plain rock. Ryan ran his fingers over ornate carvings of strange looking creatures and humans. The carvings were cracked and crumbling, probably ancient. He paused when his fingers hit a particularly large and deep crack. He followed it’s path with his eyes and realized it wasn’t a crack, but the boundary between a wall and a door.

  


Gavin had been freaked out ever since the Vagabond had said the name James Haywood to him, and Dan couldn’t get Gavin to tell him why. They were currently standing on the balcony of their apartment. They had gone home now, after spending a couple of hours reviewing Ryan’s plan for tracking down Coal. It was a complicated and dangerous plan and they were all tired from hammering out the details. They still hadn’t returned the gold. They planned on doing it first thing tomorrow morning. The gold and Joel was far from their minds, however. The Vagabond was the current shadow looming over their thoughts, and for Dan, getting Gavin to reveal exactly why he was so shaken by what Ryan had said to him was top priority. At the moment, Gavin was halfway to getting sloppy drunk, emphasis on the sloppy, as his trembling hands were causing him to slosh more beer down his front than he was drinking.

“B, at least give me a hint,” Dan begged, but Gavin just shook his head, eyes wide, and took another messy swig. Dan sighed and tugged the bottle from Gavin’s hands. Gavin glared.

“Hey!” Gavin protested. Dan drank from the bottle and handed the beer back to Gavin.

“Oh, keep your pants on, Gav, I just wanted a sip.” For some reason, this seemed to be the wrong thing to say, because Gavin went even paler than he already was and he took a stumbling step towards the sliding glass door.

“I’m going to sleep. Uh, real tired. Long day, you know. Found out I was immortal and everything.” That was right. They should probably talk about that, but Gavin was already inside and heading towards his bedroom. Dan frowned.

“It’s only six-thirty!” Dan called after Gavin, but Gavin was already slipping into his room and closing the door. Dan sighed softly to himself and went inside as well, heading for the kitchen, intent on getting his own beer.

  


Oh god, oh god, oh god. How could this be happening? Gavin sat in his bed, trembling slightly. He tried telling himself it was probably no big deal, but it wasn’t doing him any good. The memory of that night alone was enough to make Gavin a little dizzy, let alone with the added knowledge he had now. It actually made a little too much sense, but Gavin didn’t want to analyze it, as it was hard for him to think about too much. Gavin’s phone buzzed. He picked it up, actually expecting Dan, trying to communicate with him since Gavin wasn’t responding to Dan verbally. It wasn’t Dan, however. It was the Vagabond. Gavin’s heart thudded against his ribcage. They had all exchanged numbers before they left Geoff’s place, but Gavin hadn’t expected the Vagabond to actually contact him. Hadn’t _wanted_ the Vagabond to contact him.

[6:57 PM] Vagabond: Are you freaking out over my little revelation, kitten?

Gavin swallowed thickly, feeling a little sick. This was exactly what he didn’t want. The information was bad enough, but he wasn’t going to be able to take it if the Vagabond, or Ryan, or _James_ , or whatever was going to tease him about it.

[6:59 PM] Gavin: dont call me that

[7:00 PM] Vagabond: Why not? You certainly seemed to enjoy it before.

Gavin whimpered. God damn it. How did he get into these situations? More importantly, how could he get _out_ of them?

[7:00 PM] Gavin: w/e i only slept with u cus i was trying to steal from u and also i didnt know u were a fucking ASSASSIN!

[7:01 PM] Vagabond: Oh, I know, kitten. You thought I was a foreign dignitary. These things can happen in our line of business. If it makes you feel any better, I was only sleeping with you because I thought you’d make a good bed warmer for the night.

[7:02 PM] Vagabond: Seems like only one of us had the wrong idea about the other’s identity. You were an excellent bed warmer.

Gavin felt himself flush at that. Ryan had been an exceptionally good partner in bed. That night had been going swimmingly, until Gavin tried to pull off his little theft job and Ryan had damn near cut off his hand. And then things had gone downhill from there…

[7:05 PM] Gavin: leave me alone

[7:06 PM] Vagabond: Don’t be like that, kitten. I was quite hoping to repeat the experience. Sans the attempted theft, bloodshed, and murder, of course. I rather enjoyed the sight of you between my legs.

Gavin shut off his phone and buried himself in his blankets, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and horror at Ryan’s words. Was the Vagabond actually hitting on him or was he just getting enjoyment out of teasing Gavin? Either way, Gavin was determined not to rise to his bait. Despite that, he couldn’t help but feel a small amount of arousal at Ryan’s last text.

**Author's Note:**

> More characters besides the ones listed in the tags may make appearances.


End file.
